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BALLADS FOR THE TIMES, 

GEEALDINE, 
HACTENUS, A THOUSAND LINES, 



OTHER POEMS 



BY 



MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER, D.C.L., F.R.S., 

AUTHOR OF "PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY," ETC., ETC. 



atltjinrijrit (giitinn. 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED BY E. H. BUTLER & CO. 

1852. 



-p-^^i^^" 



■:^m 






^UN25l&23 






CONTENTS. 



BALLADS FOR THE TIMES: — 

TO THE UNION Page 13 

THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE 15 

THE FAMILY GATHERING 16 

ENGLAND'S WELCOME TO THE WORLD 17 

A HYMN FOR ALL NATIONS 19 

A WORD FOR THE OREGON MISSION 20 

OUR VOYAGE . . 21 

THE OLD AND THE NEW 22 

A WORD ON ARRIVAL 23 

NEW ZEALAND 23 

CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 23 

SONNET 26 

THE CANTERBURY SEAL 26 

BRITAIN TO COLUMBIA 27 

DIEU, ET MON DROIT 29 

THE GREAT EXHIBITION, 1851 30 

THE POET'S MISSION 31 

GOD BLESS THE QUEEN 34 

THE MOON AND MOONSHINE 35 

"NOBODY FEELS OR CARES" 35 

THE "CLAMEUR DE HARO" 36 

MONT ORGUEIL : JERSEY 38 

COME AS YOU ARE 40 

MONT ST. MICHEL 41 

ST. HELIER'S HERMITAGE, JERSEY 42 

ST. PAUL'S, OF ST. HELENA 43 

PEEL 44 

(iii) 



IV CONTENTS. 

WORDSWORTH 45 

CAMBRIDGE ^ 

PRESIDENT TAYLOR 46 

RAJAH BROOKE 4,^ 

AFRICA'S SELF-BLOCKADE 4g 

LOW SPIRITS 4g 

FORTITUDE 4^ 

"HOW MUCH WORSE IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN!" 50 

A NIGHT-SAIL IN THE RACE OF ALDERNEY 5I 

GENIUS AND FRIENDS 52 

THE MANCHESTER ATHENiEUM ... ' -o 

00 

THE KINGSTON CORONATION STONE 54 

A STAVE OF SYMPATHY ., 

oo 

ENCOURAGEMENT 

00 

A MISSIONARY BALLAD 

57 

THE LAUREL CROWN 

HOxME ' ^ 

60 

RICH AND POOR 

THE SABBATH ' ' ', 

65 

"THE LAMP UPON THE RAILWAY ENGINE" gy 

LABOUR 

THE NEW HOME ' ' ' 71 

CALUMNY 

MERCY TO ANIMALS .... * ' -r^ 

70 

THE DOG'S PETITION ^g 

"ENGLAND'S HEART!" go 

MY OWN PLACE .81 

" WHAT IS A POET ?" g3 

^N^^Y ..'.*.'."..' 85 

WELCOME 1 

00 

^^^^ 87 

SELFISHNESS ^^ ^ 

SELF-POSSESSION ' '„ 

SLANDER. . - 

SONNET '93 

THE GOLDEN MEAN 

TIME * ' „. 

94 

"GOD PRESERVE THE QUEEN!" ........ 

A BALLAD FOR THE PRINCE ALFRED ... n^ 

• • • • . • 97 

A NATIONAL ANTHEM FOR LIBERIA IN AFRICA gg 

THE LIBERIAN BEACON * , 



CON T E N T S . V 

THE LIBERIAN CHURCH 101 

A NATIONAL PKAYER AGAINST THE CHOLERA 101 

COURAGE! 103 

A HYMN AND A CHANT lO-l 

HARVEST HYMN FOR 1849 .107 

A HARVEST HYMN FOR 1850 109 

HOP-PICKING 110 

A SHORT REPLY Ill 

CHARITY Ill 

THE MAN ABOUT TOWN 113 

A PRAYER FOR THE LAND 114 

PRAISE! 116 

"LIBERTY — EQUALITY — FRATERNITY!" 118 

MARTIN LUTHER 118 

SOHO! 124 

REVISITING CHARTERHOUSE 125 

THE SISTERS 127 

ENERGY 128 

"NON ANGLI SED ANGELI" 132 

COUNTRY LIFE 134 

FONS PARNASSI 137 

ST. MARTHA'S 138 

APPEAI^, 1840 148 

REBUILT, 1849 148 

RECONSECRATED MAY 15, 1850 149 

SONNET, FOR ST. ANN'S, ALDERNEY 150 

A CONSECRATION 150 

A THOUSAND LINES, &c. : — 

SLOTH 152 

ACTIVITY ' 153 

ADVENTURE I54 

THE SONG .OP SIXTEEN 156 

FORTY 157 

THE SONG OF SEVENTY 158 

NATURE'S NOBLEMAN 160 

NEVER GIVE UP ! 161 

THE SUN 162 

THE MOON 162 

THE STARS 163 

1* 



VI CONTENTS 

OUR KINGDOM 

FORGIVE AND FORGET 



163 

16i 



"MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS" jgg 

TARRING CHURCH, 1844 j^^ 

THE SAME T-. 

175 

THE SAME PLACE AND DAY 17g 

SONNET, ON A BIRTH ^^g 

^^^^ *.*.*.'.'." 177 

COUNSEL j^7 

HOME j^g 

BYEGONES \^^g 

RULE, BRITANNIA! .... ,-„ 

1/9 

THE EMIGRANT SHIP ^gg 

THE ASSURANCE OF HORACE ' . ' . ' 183 

THE ASSURANCE OF OVID " ^g^ 

POST-LETTERS ^g^ 

^^^IC^ '.*.*.*.*.*.'.'..* 187 

THANKS jgy 

SOCIETY *.'.'.'.*..' 188 

THE REAL AND THE IDEAL 188 

ORIGINAL PROLOGUE 289 

EPILOGUE . Igg 

HACTENUS, &c.: — 

THE NEVT YEAR ^g^ 

ALL'S FOR THE BEST ! jg^ 

THE RIDDLE READ j92 

OLD HAUNTS .... ,„. 
194 

THE BATTLE OF ROLEIA ... ,„- 

RETROSPECT 

PEACE AND QUIETNESS ^^^ 

THE EARLY GALLOP 200 

ASCOT : JUNE 3, 1847 ' ' ' 201 

LIFE * .,„, 

201 

WATERLOO . 

202 

"ARE YOU A GREAT READER?" 209 

THE VERDICT . . 

209 

GUERNSEY 

210 

ALL'S RIGHT . 

211 

THE COMPLAINT OF AN ANCIENT BRITON ... 211 

WISDOM . . 

213 



CONTENTS. Vii 

THE HEART'S HUSBAND 214 

PROPHETS 215 

WHEAT-CORN AND CHAFF 215 

THE TRUE EPICURE 216 

THE HAPPY MAN 210 

HERALDIC 217 

THRENOS 218 

THE DEAD .... 220 

THE THANKS OF PARLIAMENT TO WELLINGTON AND HIS ARMY . . 223 

TO LAURA ... 225 

TO AMERICA 226 

PAIN 228 

THE TOOTHACHE 228 

NO SURRENDER! 229 

NEVER MIND ! 230 

THE CROMLECH DU TUS, GUERNSEY 231 

MY CHILDREN. 1845 233 

A DEBT OF LOVE. 1838 235 

TO LITTLE ELLIN. 1837 235 

ON THE BIRTH OF LITTLE MARY. 1838 236 

MARGARET. 1840 236 

TO LITTLE SELWYN. 1S42 237 

ON LITTLE WILLIAM. 1844 237 

HENRY DE B. T. 1846 238 

THE SEVENTH : WALTER F. T. 1848 238 

ERRATA, AN AUTHOR'S COMPLAINT 239 

VENUS 239 

"THE WARM YOUNG HEART" 241 

TO CIDLI, ASLEEP 241 

ALFRED 242 

THE DAY OF A THOUSAND YEARS ! 245 

THE ALFRED MEDALS 246 

SOCRATES TO LYSIAS 248 

THE MEMORIAL WINDOW 248 

A CALL TO POOR SEMPSTRESSES 251 

A CALL TO THE RICH 252 

OUR THANKSGIVING HYMN 253 

ACCEPTABLE THANKS! 254 

TO A YOUNG POET 255 

TO THE POET OF MEMORY 256 

A SONG 257 



Vlil CONTENTS. 

CHEER UP I 257 

"TOGETHER" 258 

FRIENDS 259 

M. T 259 

HORACE'S PHILOSOPHY 260 

"THE LAST TIME" 261 

GERALDINE 263 

SOME EARLY POEMS:— 

IMAGINATION 292 

THE SONG OF AN ALPINE ELF 296 

DREAMS 298 

INFANT CHRIST, WITH FLOWERS 299 

PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE 301 

A SHORT GOSPEL - ... 301 

ON A BULBOUS ROOT 302 

CRUELTY 306 

MONSIEUR D'ALVERON 309 

WISDOM'S WISH 311 

THE ISIOTHER'S LAMENT 313 

TRUST 314 

THE STAMMERER'S COMPLAINT 315 

BENEVOLENCE 318 

A CABINET OF FOSSILS 322 

FIVE PSALMS 324 

THE MOURNER COMFORTED 329 

THE SOULS OF BRUTES 332 

THE CHAMOIS HUNTER 337 

REPROOF 340 

THE AFRICAN DESERT • . . 340 

THE SUTTEES 347 

CONTRASTED SONNETS: — 

CHEERFULNESS — MALICE 353 

NATURE 354 

ART 355 

THE HAPPY HOME 355 

THE WRETCHED HOME 356 

THEORY — PRACTICE 357 

RICHES — POVERTY 358 



CONTENTS. IX 

LIGHT — DARKNESS 359 

POKTKY — PROSE 3G0 

FRIENDSHIP, CONSTRAINED — ENMITY, COMPELLED 361 

PHILANTHROPIC — MISANTHROPIC 362 

COUNTRY — TOWN 363 

WORLDLY AND WEALTHY— WISE AND WORTHY 3G4 

LIBERALITY — MEANNESS 365 

ANCIENT — MODERN 366 

SPIRIT — MATTER 367 

LIFE— DEATH 368 

ELLEN GRAY 369 

CHARITY 374 

TO MY BOOK, "PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY" 376 

TO THE SAME 376 

WEDDING GIFTS 377 

CHILDREN 378 

THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY 380 

A GREENHOUSE 381 

A GLIMPSE OF PARADISE 381 

TO THE SOVEREIGN 382 

TIEE CORONATION 382 

THE ABBEY 383 

UNION .• 383 

DAYS GONE BY. 1830 384 

THE CRISIS. 1829 385 

LAMENT. 1837 386 

DOWN WITH FOREIGN PRIESTCRAFT. 1851 386 

THE CATHEDRAL IMIND 387 

POLITICS IN 1839 388 

TO A PREMIER 388 

1 PROTESTING TRUTH 389 

THE UNHOLY ALLIANCE 390 

EXPEDIENCY. 1839 390 

GOOD SHEPHERDS 391 

AMERICAN BALLADS: — 

TO BROTHER JONATHAN 392 

"YE THIRTY NOBLE NATIONS" 396 

JOHN'S REJOINDER 400 



X CONTENTS. 

A STAVE FOR THE SOUTH 404 

YET ONCE AGAIN 407 

ROCKS AHEAD! 411 

A STAVE 413 

NIAGARA 415 

OUR DAY 415 

THE MISSIONARY JUBILEE HYMN 416 

GRATITUDE 418 

THUS FAR 419 



NOTE BY THE PUBLISHERS. 



[The following sketch of Mr. Tupper's literary career, is from the pen of 
William Anderson, Author of " Landscape Lyrics ; " and has never been 
printed in this country. It appeared originally in the "Church of 
England Journal," No. LIX. May 12, 1847.] 



MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER, M.A., F.R.S. 

The name of Martin Farquhar Tupper has become popularly 
known, not only in this country, but in America, and on the 
Continent, as that of an author of great original genius, a highly 
cultivated intellect, extensive scholarship, and very superior poetic 
powers. He is the eldest son of the late eminent surgeon, Martin 
Tupper, Esq. F.R.S. , who, after a prosperous and successful practice, 
of five and thirty years, died suddenly in his sleep, of angina 
pectoris, on the 8th December, 1844, at Southill Park, the residence 
of the Earl of Limerick, only a few hours after that nobleman 
had himself expired in his arms. The subject of the present 
sketch was born in London, in 1810. The family from which 
he is descended, an ancient and honourable one, belongs originally 
to G-ermany. In consequence of the persecution of the protestants 
by Charles V., they left Hesse Cassel, in 1551, and settled in 
Guernsey. They have never been below the rank of gentlemen, 
and the circumstances of the author of "Proverbial Philosophy '^ 
are affluent. With him literature is not a profession, but a recrea- 
tion, and he has done high honour to it. 

He received the first part of his education at the Charter House, 
and afterwards went to Christ Church, Oxford, where he took the 

(xiii) 



Xiv MARTIN P. T UPPER. 

degrees of B.A. and M.A.* He subsequently entered at Lin- 
coln's Inn, and in due time was called to the bar, but never 
practised as a barrister. At the age of twenty-six, he married, 
and has a fine young family of sons and daughters. 

Mr. Tupper's first publication was a little work issued in 1832, 
entitled "Sacra Poesis,'^ which we have not had the good fortune 
to see. The first series of "Proverbial Philosophy, a Book of 
Thoughts and Arguments Originally treated," was published in 
December, 1837, and the second series in 1842. This work at 
once excited attention, and called forth the most favourable criti- 
cisms. It was hailed as the production of one who, while he 
thought and reasoned like a true sage, wrote and illustrated like 
a true poet. The pages of "Proverbial Philosophy '' are full of 
instruction and wisdom, and breathe throughout the finest spirit 
of genuine poetry. Well does the writer of this sketch remember 
the pleasure with which he first read that remarkable production. 
He was then connected editorially with the Metropolitan Con- 
servative Journal J in which paper the first series was reviewed 
at length at the time of its appearance. In that review, the 
volume was described as " a work abounding in rich thoughts and 
delicate fancies, — in sound philosophy, and high moral resolutions, 
and which may be read over and over again, by the young philo- 
sopher, or poetical dreamer, with equal profit and delight." And, as 
if writing prophetically of the proud and enviable position to which 
Mr. Tupper was yet to attain in literature, the reviewer triumphantly 
asked, — " Have we now not done enough to show that a poet of 
power and promise, — a poet and philosopher both, is amongst us to 
delight and instruct — to elevate and guide? Do we err in saying 
that a fresh leaf is added to the laurel crown of poetry?'^ The 
praises of the other reviewers were no less enthusiastic, and no 
less just. "There is more novelty in the sentiments," said the 
Monthly Review, "a greater sweep of subjects, and a finer sense 

* Since the date of this sketch (1847), Mr. Tupper has had conferred 
upon him the degree of D. C. L. of the University of Oxford. — American 
Publishers. 



MARTIN F. T UPPER. XV 

of moral beauty displayed by Mr. Tupper, tlian we remember to 
have seen in any work of its class, excepting of course the Pro- 
verbs of Solomon. We also discover in his Philosophy the stores 
of extensive reading, and the indisputable proofs of habitual and 
devout reflection, as well as the workings of -an elegant mind.'' 
The work met with unprecedented success ; and six large editions 
of it have been sold.* The author was elected a Fellow of the 
Royal Society in consequence of it. He had already shown him- 
self to be, in Shakspeare's phrase, "a Fellow of Infinite Wit," 
and, we may add, of Wisdom too. The King of Prussia, in token 
of his majesty's high approbation of "Proverbial Philosophy," 
sent him the gold medal for science and literature. The work 
became very popular in the United States. In New York alone, 
we are informed, ten thousand copies were sold during last year, 
and the work is known to be published in several other American 
cities. Its reputation is also great in the British colonies. 

Mr. Tupper's next work was " Greraldine, a sequel to Cole- 
ridge's Christabel, with other poems," published in 1838; of 
which an opinion has been already expressed in this paper, — -see 
No. 53, of Church of England Journal. The ideal plan of 
the Christabel has been well brought out by Mr. Tupper, in his 
Sequel; and it is no small praise to him to say, that the wild 
and original .spirit that pervades it, is every way akin to the 
sublime and beautiful inspiration of the great but unfinished poem 
of Coleridge itself. The minor poems contained in the volume 
are singularly pleasing and graceful, and abound in touches of 
real beauty and genuine feeling. Besides "Ellen G-rey," already 
quoted in these columns, the pieces entitled "The Alpine Elf;" 
"Children;" "A Cabinet of Fossils;" "The African Desert;" 
and some of the Sonnets, are our favourites, although all are 
good. 

In 1839, he published, " A modern Pyramid ; to Commemorate 
a Septuagint of Worthies;" designed to furnish illustrations and 

* The tenth edition (of 6000 copies) is now selling in London ; and in 
America nearly 200,000 have been sold. — American Publishers. 



XVI MARTIN F . T U P P E R 

descriptions of character of seventy of the most remarkuble per- 
sonages of sacred and profane history, ancient and modern. Among 
them are some of the patriarchs, some of the ancient sages of 
the East, some of the most noted men of Grreece and Rome, 
chiefly philosophers and authors, some of the Apostles, and some 
of the most remarkable personages of the middle ages, and down- 
wards, in the stream of time, to the present century. From the 
nature of the work, and its limits not admitting of more than 
seventy names, there are, of course, many omissions; but each 
of "the Worthies" introduced is the subject of a sonnet, and 
brief biographical sketch. The work exhibits all the peculiar 
qualities of Mr. Tupper's genius and style ; high poetic feeling, 
fine taste, great fertility of imagination, and boldness of opinion 
and speculation; with profound practical thought, extensive and 
varied learning, a general knowledge of mankind and history, and 
great command of language. In this volume, too, the author 
appears to great advantage, as a zealous defender of the Faith, 
as held and taught by the Church of England. 

In 1840, Mr. Tupper produced a pleasant volume of odds and 
ends, called, "An Author's Mind." Among the contents are 
pieces entitled, " The Author's Mind, a ramble ; " " Nero, a 
tragedy;" "Opium, a history;" " Psycotherion, an argument;" 
"Heathenism, an Apology;" "Woman, a subject;" "' Toilomas- 
trix, a title ; " " Appendix, an after-thought;" " Home, an Epic; " 
&c. Some poems of remarkable beauty are also introduced, with 
great eff"ect, among the other pieces which compose this agreeable 
collection of "gaieties and gravities." 

Mr. Tupper's next work, a rural novel, entitled " The Crock 
of Gold," designed to illustrate the commandment " Thou shalt 
not kill," as well as to show the curse and hardening effect of 
avarice, was published in 1844. It is a simple tale, very beautifully 
told ; but nevertheless full of an extraordinary interest and attrac- 
tion ; one of those books indeed, which by its wit and pathos, its 
deep insight into human passions, and its powerful delineations 



MARTIN F. T UPPER. Xvii 

of virtue and crime, enchain the attention of the reader till he 
has finished its perusal, and leave behind a strong but wholesome 
and salutary impression on the mind. The plot purports to be 
the history of a poor labourer and his family, who from a life 
of peaceful and contented drudgery, became discontented and repining, 
and were gradually involved in sore trials and serious troubles. 
The principal characters of the story are honest Roger Acton, the 
luckless finder of "the Crock of Gold," his pure and simple-hearted 
daughter Grace, her lover Jonathan, Simon Jennings the murderer, 
his aunt Bridget Quarles, and Ben Burke, the poacher. The murder 
of Bridget by Jennings, is very graphically described; and the 
chapter headed " Next Morning," being that following the murder 
scene, is one of the finest pieces of writing in modern literature. 
The "Crock of Gold" is very popular in America; and it has 
been repeatedly dramatized and acted with success. In this coun- 
try it has been extensively read. 

The same year (1844) Mr. Tupper published two other works 
of fiction, in one volume each ; namely, " Heart. A social novel; '' 
and "The Twins. A Domestic Novel." The main design of 
these works appears to have been, upon something better than a 
mere sketchy foundation in each, to introduce some exciting scenes, 
and some episodial bursts of hearty religious writing; and they, 
more or less, illustrate, the one the commandment "thou shalt 
not commit adultery," and the other that of " thou shalt not 
covet." The twofold object of the author in the two stories — 
that is, the depicturing of virtue and vice in their appropriate 
colours, and that as strongly as possible, and the pointing the 
moral, of each obtaining in due course its appropriate reward — 
is powerfully worked out in both; and as one of the most dis- 
criminating and competent critics who reviewed them said : — " In 
every page there is something which a reader would wish to bear 
in his memory for ever. For power of animated description, for 
eloquent reflection upon the events of every-day life, and for soft, 
touching, pathetic appeals to the best feelings of the heart, the 



XVlll MARTIN F. TUPPER. 

volumes are worthy of a place on every library table in tbe king- 
dom." The same reviewer says, very justly, of Mr. Tupper's 
style: "There is a genuine, hearty, straightforward, downright- 
ness about him that brings him right on the mark at once. His 
sentences are neither long, laboured, nor parenthetical, but they 
are animated by a fine racy idiomatic vigorousness of style that 
impresses their meaning on the mind and memory. He forms, 
as it were, a sort of half-way house between Dickens and Carlyle. 
Without the regularly sustained power of Boz, he has much of 
his picturesqueness in description and his pathos; and, without 
his eccentricity, he possesses no slight portion of the full-toned 
energy and characteristic raciness of the author of ' Sartor Eesartus.' " 
Of such works as these three novels of Mr. Tupper, we hope yet 
to see many more specimens from his graphic pen. 

His next work, published in 1845, is entitled "A Thousand 
Lines," a little tract of but sixty pages, containing poems on 
various subjects, written in his most captivating manner. Thought 
vigorous and fruitful, imagery vivid and beautiful, feeling warm 
and unaffected, clothed in language strong, hearty, and emphatic, 
or soft, pathetic, and musical, as the theme or the rhythm required, 
with an originality that cannot fail to be acknowledged in them 
all, are the characteristics of the verses of this little book. A 
new version of " Rule Britannia ! '' a stirring song for patriots in 
the year 1860, has in it a genuine fervent English spirit and 
tone, that make the very heart bound when perusing it. "The 
Emigrant Ship " is indeed an exquisite little lyric, full of delicate 
pathos, and instinct with gentle music; and a sound and high 
souled spirit of philosophy breathes in the noble and cheering 
stanzas entitled " Never Grive Up ! " 

The last published work of Mr. Tupper is called "Probabilities; 
an Aid to Faith," issued in January last; resembling in idea the 
" Analogy " of Butler, but much simpler in detail, and altogether 
independent and original in argument and illustration. This small, 
but valuable and instructive volume we have noticed to-day. 



MARTINF.TUPPER. XIX 

Besides the works mentioned, Mr. Tuppcr published in 1838, " A 
Coronation Ode, and Sonnets,^^ which, like all his poetry, display 
much poetic genius and great power of versification.* 

In appearance, Mr. Tupper is, we believe, about the middle 
size ; young-looking, and well favoured ; with black hair, cheerful 
aspect, and cordial manner. Both in his deportment and in his 
writings, he has all the elements of popularity. Of the former, 
however, the writer of this sketch cannot speak from personal 
knowledge, as he is altogether unacquainted with him. With 
the latter he is quite familiar. His usual residence is at Albury, 
Surrey; but he has also a seat at Furzehill, near Brighton. 

•^ " Hactenus," and a quantity of other occasional lyrics and prose pieces, 
with "King Alfred's own poems," translated from the Anglo-Saxon, have 
appeared since the publication of this sketch. — American Publishers. 



SBMtatinn, 



TO ALL FRIENDS. 

A hook of many thoughts in mingled measures : 
Songs of my Heart, attuned through many a year 
From time to time a silent hour to cheer; 

Unguarded tell-tales of mine inner pleasures^ 
High hopes, and joys most deep, and loves most dear ; 

What welcome shall we find? — Neglect f — Reproof f 

A sullen pride that coldly holds aloof f 

JVo, Friends ! not such will he my welcome here : 

From heart to heart I speak, from love to love. 
With kindly words that kindliness inspire. 
Frankly, confidingly ; no fear, no fear 
But love shall be your greeting to my lyre ; 

For, through the mercies lent me from ahove, 
i warm your hearts, O Friends ! with holy fire. 



(xxi) 



TUPPER^S 
POETICAL WORKS. 

FROM A UNIT. 

Giant aggregate of nations, 

Griorious Whole of glorious Parts, 
Unto endless generations 

Live United, hands and hearts! 
Be it storm, or summer-weather, 

Peaceful calm, or battle-jar, 
Stand in beauteous strength together, 

Sister States, as Now ye are ! 

Every petty class-dissension 

Heal it up, as quick as thought, 
Every paltry place-pretension, 

Crush it, as a thing of nought; 
Let no narrow private treason 

Your great onward progress bar, 
But remain, in right and reason. 

Sister States, as Now ye are! 
2 (13) 



14 TOTHE UNION. 

Fling away absurd ambition ! 

People, leave that toy to kings; 
En\7', jealousy, suspicion, 

Be above such grovelling things ! 
In each other's joys delighted, 

All your hate be — joys of war, 
And by all means keep United, 

Sister States, as Now ye are ! 

Were I but some scornful stranger, 

Still my counsel would be just; 
Break the band, and all is danger. 

Mutual fear, and dark distrust: 
But, you know me for a brother 

And a friend who speak from far; 
Be at one then with each other. 

Sister States, as Now ye are ! 

If it seems a thing unholy 

Freedom's soil by slaves to till, 
Yet be just ! and sagely, slowly. 

Nobly, cure that ancient ill: 
Slowly, — haste is fatal ever; 

Nobly, — lest good faith ye mar; 
Sagely, — not in wrath to sever 

Sister States, as Now ye are ! 

Charmed with your commingled beauty 

England sends the signal round, 
"Every man must do his duty" 

To redeem from bonds the bound ! 
Then indeed your banner's brightness 

Shining clear from every star 
Shall proclaim your joint uprightness. 

Sister States, as Now ye are! 



TOTHEUNION. 16 



So, a peerless constellation 

May those stars for ever blaze! 
Three-and-ten-times-threefold nation. 

Go ahead in power and praise ! 
Like the many-breasted goddess 

Throned on her Ephesian car 
Be — one heart in many bodies ! 

Sister States, as Now ye are. 



€^t 5lngln-|iixntt %m. 

A RHYME FOR ENGLISHMEN. 

Stretch forth ! stretch forth ! from the south to the north I 
From the east to the west, — stretch forth ! stretch forth ! 
Strengthen thy stakes, and lengthen thy cords, — 
The world is a tent for the world's true lords! 
Break forth and spread over every place, 
The world is a world for the Saxon Race ! 

England sowed the glorious seed, 

In her wise old laws, and her pure old creed, 

And her stout old heart, and her plain old tongue, 

And her resolute energies, ever young. 

And her free bold hand, and her frank fair face, 

And her faith in the rule of the Saxon Race ! 

Feebly dwindling day by day. 

All other races are fading away; 

The sensual South, and the servile East, 

And the tottering throne of the treacherous priest, 

And every land is in evil case 

But the wide-scatter'd realm of the Saxon Race ! 



16 THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE. 

Englishmen everywhere ! brethren all ! 

By one great name on your millions I call, — 

Norman, American, Gael, and Celt, 

Into this fine mixed mass ye melt, 

And all the best of your best I trace 

In the golden brass of the Saxon Race ! 

Englishmen everywhere ! faithful and free ! 

Lords of the land, and kings of the sea, — 

Anglo-Saxons ! honest and true, 

By hundreds of millions my word is to you, — 

Love one another ! as brothers embrace ! 

That the world may be blest in the Saxon Race I 



185L 

A STAVE OF INVITATION. 

For happiness, unity, plenty, and peace, 

And brotherhood over the world, 
For loves to increase, and dissensions to cease, 

And war's bloody flag to be furl'd. 
Come, gather together with hearty good will, 

In the warmth of a generous mind. 
And bring us the best of your strength and your skill, 

To bless and to better mankind! 

Let quicken'd invention its secret impart 

The body to succour in need; 
Let taste and high breeding, and delicate art, 

The mind with their melodies feed : 



THE FAMILY GATHERING. 17 

Let just emulation and genius be glad 

To join in the liberal strife 
Which seals to the world all the wealth that it had, 

And adds to the blessings of life. 

So, gather together! your leader and Prince, 

With many a true man beside, 
Has set up this standard the world to convince 

That commerce and love are allied : 
For Man, of all nations and kindreds, is one, 

And heartily well is it worth, 
Thus kindly to cause in the sight of the sun 

A Family Meeting of Earth ! 



A BALLAD FOR 1851. 

A VOICE of happy greeting to the Nations of the World ! 

A Flag of peace for every shore, on every sea, unfurl'd ! 

A Word of brotherhood and love to each who hears the call,— 

A Welcome to the World of Men, a Welcome, one and all! 

children of a common stock, brothers all around, 

In kindliness and sympathy receive the joyful sound; 

Old England bids you welcome all, and wins you to her shore. 

To see how men of every clime may help each other more. 

Old England greets you lovingly, as friend should greet a friend, 
And only prays that peaceful days may never have an end; 
And only hopes, by doing good, the good of all to gain. 
And so Goodwill from brethren still, right gladly to attain! 

2* 



18 England's welcome to the world. 

Come on then to this Tournament, of Peace, and skilful Art, 
Come on, fair Europe's chivalry, and play the Bayard's part ! 
For honour, Austria, spur away ! for honour, gentle France ! 
For honour, Russ, and Swede, and Turk, — come on with levell'd 
lance ! 

Come on amain, high-hearted Spain ! industrious Holland, come I 
Italy, Persia, Greece, and Ind, — fill up the Nations' sum ! 
And chiefly with us, heart to heart, come on, and tilt for fame, 
Columbia, — thou that England art in everything but name ! 

Not, as long since, for deeds of death, — but deeds to gladden life • 
Provoking each for others' good to join the generous strife ! 
As in those games at Pytho, or in old Nemj^a's grove. 
Where Graecia's best and worthiest for honoui* only strove. 

Come, wrestle thus in peace with us, and vie for glory's prize, 
Bring out your wares of rarest work, and wealthiest merchandise ; 
Let every Craft of every clime produce its brilliant best. 
The dazzling zone of Venus, and Minerva's starry crest ! 

Let Science add the miracles that human reason works 
When tracking out the Mind of God that in all Nature lurks, — 
The Wonderful, that He hath made Beneficent to man, 
And gives us wit to fathom it, and use it as we can ! 

O there are secrets choice and strange, that men have not found out, 
Though up and down the earth we range, and forage round about, 
The hidden things of Mercy's heart, the Beautiful-Sublime, 
That God hath meant to cheer us on adown the stream of Time : 

Adown the stream of Time, until — we reach that happier shore. 
Where sin and pain come not again, and grief is grief no more ; 
For that, nations, wisely strive to do all good you can, 
And, gratefully as unto God, live brotherly with Man ! 



A HYMN FOR ALL NATIONS. 19 



a iOttinn fnr nil Uatinni mu 

TRANSLATED INTO THIRTY LANGUAGES. 

Glorious G-od! on Thee we call, 
Father, Friend, and Judge of all; 
Holy Saviour, heavenly King, 
Homage to Thy throne we bring! 

In the wonders all around 
Ever is Thy Spirit found. 
And of each good thing we see 
All the good is born of Thee! 

Thine the beauteous skill that lurks 
Everywhere in Nature's works; 
Thine is Art, with all its worth, 
Thine each masterpiece on earth! 

Yea, and foremost in the van 
Springs from Thee the Mind of Man; 
On its light, for this is thine, 
Shed abroad the love divine ! 

Lo, our God ! Thy children here 

From all realms are gather'd near. 

Wisely gather'd, — gathering still — 

For peace on earth, towards men good-will! 

May we, with fraternal mind. 
Bless our brothers of mankind; 
May we, through redeeming love, 
Be the blest of God above! 



20 AWORD FOR THE OREGON MISSION. 

a Wn^ for i\)t (Dngnn Blissinii. 

Push on ! to earth's extremest verge, — 

And plant the Gospel there, 
Till wide Pacific's angry surge 

Is soothed by Christian prayer; 
Advance the standard, conquering van, 

And urge the triumph on. 
In zeal for God and love of man, 

To distant Oregon ! 

Faint not, soldier of the cross, 

Its standard-bearer thou! 
All California's gold is dross 

To what thou winnest now ! 
A vast new realm, wherein to search 

For truest treasure won, 
God's jewels, — in his infant church 

Of new-born Oregon. 

Thou shalt not fail, thou shalt not fall! 

The gracious living Word 
Hath said of every land, that all 

Shall glorify the Lord : 
He shall be served from East to West, 

Yea — to the setting sun, — 
And Jesu's name be loved and blest 

In desert Oregon. 

Then, Brothers ! help in this good deed, 

And side with God to-day! 
Stand by His servant now, to speed 

His apostolic way: 
Bethlehem's ever-leading star 

In mercy guides him on 
To light with holy fire from far 

The Star of Oregon. 



t)UR VOYAGE. 21 



(Our ^^^h 

WRITTEN ON BOARD THE ASIA, BY REQUEST. 

Count up with me our mercies manifest 
My brother voyagers; that God hath sped 
Our wandering steps, in safety hither led, 

Strong in His strength, and with His bounty blest. 

0, how can half the perils be exprest 

That He hath spared us on this prosperous way? 

No evil hath come near us, to deform 
One pleasant night, or one luxurious day. 
No traitor rock, no fierce tyrannic storm : 

But, as, at night, bell echoing answered bell 

LLke neighbouring village clocks, the cheering word 

Ever was wafted in response, " All 's well V 

Thank God ! that thus His ready grace hath heard 

Our pray'rs, though few and feeble, truth to tell! 

And, meekly think how many better men 

Have gone this way in famine and in fear, 
Yet, after all their toils, had laboured then 

Vainly, — for Death hath feasted on them here! 
think how gulph'd away from human ken 

Thousands have struggled in yon yeasty waves. 
As gloomily, around some staggering wreck, 
Yawn'd the black throats of those Atlantic graves! 

We the while, pacing this high-t€rraced deck. 
Like proud triumphant despots of the deep. 

Set our calm feet on Ocean's vassal neck; 

And day or night, in pastimes or in sleep, 
With ease and skill and mammoth-muscled force 
Speed to the goal of our victorious course ! 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 

€^t (Dili EII& tliB Mm, 

Shall it be with a tear or a smile, Old World, 
That I bid you farewell for awhile, Old World, 

Shall you and I part 

With a pang at the heart, 
Or in cold-blooded stoical style, Old World? 

In truth, it must be with a tear. Old World, 
For much that is near and is dear. Old World! 

The lingering mind 

Looks sadly behind 
In doubt and reluctance and fear, Old World. 

Yet ever, by land and by sea. Old World, 
God helps us wherever we be, Old World; 

My babes He will keep 

Awake or asleep. 
And happily travel with me. Old World! 

So thus with a spirit at rest, New World, 

I seek your bright shores of the West, New World I 

With hearty good will 

My work to fulfil. 
And do what I do for the best, New World! 

Gratefully here for a space. New World, 

Shall I bask in the sun of thy face, New World, 

Wherever I roam 

To feel always at home. 
With brothers in every place. New World. 

No dignified dulness to freeze, New World, 
But cordial kindness and ease. New World, 

Invite me to stand. 

With my heart in my hand. 
To give it wherever I please. New World. 



AWORDONARRIVAL. 23 



a Wnxt u %xxml 

WRITTEN IN NEW YORK HARBOUR, ON BOARD THE ASIA. 

Not with cold scorn, or ill-dissembled sneer, 

Ungraciously your kindly looks to greet, 
By God's good favour safely wafted here. 
After long hope and promise many a year, 

friends and brothers, face to face we meet. 

Now, for a little space, my willing feet 

Shall tread your happy shores; my heart and voice 
Tour kindred love shall quicken and shall cheer; 

While in your greatness shall my soul rejoice — 
For you are England's nearest and most dear ! 

Suffer my simple fervours to do good, 
As one poor pilgrim haply may and can. 

Who, knit to heaven and earth by gratitude. 
Speaks from his heart, to touch his brother man. 



Mm HulA 

A SONG FOR THE ANTIPODES. 

Queen of the South !,wSich the mighty Pacific 

Claims for its Britain in ages to be. 
Bright with fair visions and hopes beatific. 

Glorious and happy thy future I see ! 
Thither the children of England are thronging, 

There for true riches securely to search; 
Not for thy gold, California, longing, 

But for sweet home, with enough, and a Church ! 



24 N E W Z E A L A N D . 

There, a soft clime and a soil ever teeming, 

Summer's December, and Winter's July, 
The bright Southern Cross in the jSrmament gleaming, 

The Dove, and the Crown, and the Altar on high, — 
There, the broad prairies with forest and river. 

There, the safe harbours are bidding men search 
For Thy best blessings, Heavenly Giver! 

Home, with enough, and an Englishman's Church ! 

Yes; for Britannia, the Mother of Nations, 

Sends out her children, as teeming old Greece, 
Good men and great men, to stand in their stations, 

Merchants of plenty, and heralds of peace : 
Stout Anglo-Saxons ! Port Victory calls you ; 

Take the glad omen, and speedily search 
Where you shall gather, whatever befals you, 

Truest of treasures, a Home and a Church ! 

Fifty years hence — look forward and see it, 

Realm of New Zealand, what then shalt thou see? 
(If the world lives, at The Father^ s So be it,) 

All shall be greatness and glory with thee ! 
Even should Britain's decay be down-written 

In the dread doom-book that no man may search, 
Still shall an Oxford, a London, a Britain, 

Gladden the South with a Home and a Church 1 



A "god speed." 

Heaven speed you, noble band! 
Link'd together, heart and hand. 
Sworn to seek that far-off land, 

Canterbui-y pilgrims,- 



CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. 26 

Heaven speed you! brothers brave, 
"Waft you well by wind and wave; 
Heaven shield you ! Heaven save ! 

Canterbury pilgrims. 

Like a Queen of swarming bees, 
England, hived amid the seas, 
Sends you by a favouring breeze, 

Canterbury pilgrims, 
With a mother's tender care. 
To her Southern sister there, 
Her young sister, fresh and fair, 

Canterbury pilgrims ! 

Fresh the soil, and fair the clime, 
Lightly touch'd by toil or time, 
Scarcely tinged with care or crime, 

Canterbury pilgrims, — 
Go then, cheerfully go forth ! 
Hasten to replenish earth 
With Old England^s honest worth, 

Canterbury pilgrims ! 

Aye — with industry — for gold. 
Godliness — for wealth untold. 
Go, in Christian duty bold, 

Canterbury pilgrims, — 
Glad New Zealand bids you share 
Each man plenty, and to spare, — 
God be with you then and there, 

Canterbury pilgrims! 



26 SONNET. 



'mmi 



BY WAY or POSTSCRIPT. 



Go forth, in faith and patience, hope and love! 

But think not, voyagers, to leave behind 

Ills of the flesh or passions of the mind, 
Nor to anticipate the bliss above 
In this new home: for evil must be there, 

Evil, that sails alike on every wind. 
In spite of all your caution, all your care: 
Then be ye tolerant; let no stern soul. 

However right his ethics or his life. 
Over the weaker brothers claim control. 

Stirring the flock to bitterness of strife: 
Honour man's conscience; from all shackles loose 

The honest mind with freedom's instinct rife : 
Take the Church with you, but no church-abuse. 



€^t €minhx)\ §ul 

AN ILLUSTRATION. 

Triple blessings on the plough, 
Triple blessings on the fleece! 

Heaven's Angel send you now 
To be fruitful and increase : 

"So your country shall remain," 
And all happiness be pour'd 

Upon Canterbury plain. 

From the Lord! 



THECANTERBURY SEAL. 27 

Triple blessings on the fleece, 

Triple blessings on the plough! 
For beneath the Cross of Peace 

All your toil is halloVd now: 
While the Church, in sacred robe, 

Is yom- help on either hand, 
As the pillars of the globe 
Ye shall stand ! 



fonkkj tn (Cnlnmliiii. 

A MESSAGE OF PEACE. 

Sister Empress, daughter dear, 
Throned on yonder hemisphere, 
"With a grand career to run 
Glorious as thy western sun. 
Sister, Daughter — we are one! 

One, in stories of the past. 
One, in glories, still to last. 
One in speech, and one in face, 
One in honest pride of race. 
One in faith, and hope, and grace! 

Sister, we have sinn'd of old. 
Both of us, through lust of gold; 
We, for centuries, you, for years, 
UnHismay'd by judgment fears. 
Throve on — human woes and tears! 

Verily, our brothers' blood 
Whelm'd us in its crimson flood! 
Yet, at last we turned, and gave, 
As a ransom from the grave. 
Royal freedom to the slave! 



BRITAIN TO COLUMBIA. 

Britain's penitential zeal 
Let it work Columbia's weal; 
Wisely hasten, as thou wilt, 
Soon to wash away this guilt — 
Man in chains, and life-blood spilt! 

We are mute, — we may not chide; 
Only pray thee, put aside 
That which must be bane to thee. 
If, as Christian, Strong, and Free, 
Thou endure it still to be. 

Yet, in frankness, we confess 
We made too much haste, to bless; 
Not at once, be well assured. 
But with gradual health allured, 
Can this chronic plague be cui'ed. 

Through the wisdom of to-day 
We have learnt a better way; 
Sister, — it is thine own plan! 
Take the poor degraded man. 
Teach him kindly all you can, — 

Then, with liberal hand, restore 
To his own Liberian shore 
This poor son of wrong and night, 
Newly blest with hope and light. 
And the patriot freeman's Bight ! 

So shall Africa blockade 

Bloodlessly that dreadful trade: 

And Liberia's "open door,'' 

School, and Church, and merchantrstore, 

Bless her children evermore. 



DIEU ET MON DROIT. 29 



Mm, ti mu Sxnt 

A LOYAL TEXT. 

No fanciful hope, and no cowardly fear 

Shall ever be lord of my breast, 
An Englishman gathers his comfort and cheer 

From Duty by Providence blest; 
The good royal motto, from Normandy won, 

Upholds him by day and by night, 
Adversity's moon, and prosperity's sun. 

Are shining in "Grod and my Right!" 

My God! the great guard, the good ruler, and friend, 

Who made me, and guides as He will; 
My Right I which His government helps to defend, 

And bids me stand up for it still : 
The heart that has trusted Him well does He love, 

And fills it with heavenly light. 
Rejoiced upon earth with all peace from above, 

And resting on " Grod and my Right ! " 

My Right — the right way, and my Right — the right arm, 

And my Right — the true rights of the case, — 
Strong, honest, deserving, the triple-tied charm 

That keeps a man firm in his place; 
With these well about us, and God overhead. 

We fear not whatever we fight. 
There never was mortal who fail'd or who fled, 

Whose motto was, "Grod and my Right!" 

3* 



THE GREAT EXHIBITION OF 1851. 



€llB tout (l^iljiliitinii nf 185L • 

A BALLAD FOR THE WORKMAN. 

Hurrah ! for honest Industry, hurrah ! for handy skill, 
Hurrah ! for all the wondrous works achieved by Wit and Will ! 
The triumph of the Artizan has come about at length, 
And Kings and Princes flock to praise his comeliness and strength. 

Now is the time, the blessed time, for brethren to agree, 

And rich and poor of every clime at unity to be ; 

When Labour honour'd openly, and not alone by stealth. 

With horny hand and glowing heart may greet his brother Wealth. 

Aye, wealth and rank are labour's kin, twin brethren all his own, 
For every high estate on earth, of labour it hath grown ; 
By duty and by prudence, and by study's midnight oil. 
The wealth of all the world is won by God-rewarded toil ! 

Then hail ! thou goodly Gathering, thou brotherhood indeed ! 
Where all the sons of men can meet as honest Labour's seed ; 
The tribes of turban'd Asia, and Afric's ebon skin, 
And Europe and America, with all their kith and kin ! 

From East and West, from North and South, to England's happy 

coast 
By tens of thousands, lo ! they come, the great industrial host, — 
By tens of thousands welcom'd for their handicraft and worth. 
Behold they greet their brethren of the Workshop of the Earth. 

Right gladly, brother workmen, will each English Artizan 
Kejoice to make you welcome all, as honest man to man, 
And teach, if aught he has to teach, and learn the much to learn, 
And show to men in every land, how all the world may earn ! 



THE GREAT EXHIBITION OF 1851. 31 

"Whatever earth, man's heritage, of every sort can yield, 

From mine and mountain, sea and air, from forest and from field ; 

Whatever reason, God's great gift, can add or take away, 

To bring the worth of all the world beneath the human sway ; 

AVhatever science hath found out, and industry hath earn'd. 
And taste hath delicately touch'd, and high-bred art hath learn'd; 
Whatever God's good handicraft, the man lie made, hath made, 
By man, God's earnest artizan, the best shall be display'd ! 

think it not an idle show, for praise, or pride, or pelf, 
No man on earth who gains a good can hide it for himself; 
By any thought that any thing can any how improve. 
We help along the cause of all, and give the world a move ! 

It is a great and glorious end to bless the sons of man. 
And meet for peace and doing good, in kindness while we can ; 
It is a greater and more blest, the Human Heart to raise 
Up to the God who giveth all, with gratitude and praise ! 



A PROTEST. 

Not to flatter kings. 

Not to serve a Court, 
Bent on nobler things 

Than tc make them sport; 
Loyal, gentle, kind. 

Yet honest, frank, and free, 
Pure in life and mind. 

Must the poet be ! 



THE 

Meekness at his heart, 

Though triumph on his brow, 
Well to do his part 

Is his daily vow; 
Zealous for the best 

His earnest spirit can, 
And, at God's behest, 

Swift to gladden Man! 

Honour thou the Gift, 

Count it no man's slave; 
To the Lord uplift 

What His bounty gave ! 
Let thy spirit spring 

Up to Heaven's gate, 
There, on quivering wing. 

Song to consecrate ! 

Song, — it soothes the heart, 

Song, it charms the world; 
Song, it is a dart 

By a giant hmTd; 
Song, — a torrent's strength 

In its force is found 
When, aroused at length, 

Nations hear the sound! 

Hark I they hear, and feel. 

And may sleep no more ! 
Hark ! the patriot peal 

Rings from shore to shore; 
And, in danger's hour. 

Stands the poet then. 
Girt about with power 

As a King of men ! 



THEPOET's MISSION. 33 

At his burning spell 

Quakes the solid shore, 
And with yearning swell 

Rises ocean's roar, 
Till the People's will 

Like a storm is heard, 
Conjured by the skill 

Of their poet's word! 

At his gentle voice 

All that storm is calm. 
And the woods rejoice, 

And the breeze is balm. 
And Hosannas rise 

From a Nation's heart. 
Flaming to the skies 

Through the Poet's art I 

Art? it is his breath. 

The sighing of his soul! 
Art? it might be Death 

The fervour to control! 
Not by such a name 

Call the glorious birth 
Of this heavenly flame 

Lit to kindle earth ! 

As his heart may glow, 

Freely must his song, 
Like an overflow. 

Gush out fresh and strong! 
No constraint be there 

His energies to tire; 
Zeal, and love, and prayer 

String the Poet's lyre ! 



34 GODBLESSTHEQUEEN. 



(0ni hlBss tjiB (tmu. 



( A loyal outburst, occasioned by the cowardly attach upon her Majesty. ) 
June 27, 1850. 

God bless the Queen! that echo darts 

Electric through the land; 
Grod save the Queen ! a million hearts 

Are with its fervour fannM : 
And, God be thanked! He saves the Queen, 

He blesses her in love; 
His Providence is ever seen 

To guard her from above ! 

dastard! thus to strike that brow 

Anointed, and so fair; 
brave young Queen! that bruise is now 

The brightest jewel there! 
In gentlest majesty sublime, 

Courageous and serene, — 
How nobly does so mean a crime 

Add glories to the Queen! 

Yes: evil men and evil deeds 

Are like some monster chainM, — 
That, when its wickedness succeeds, 

Works only good constraint: 
O Queen! the deed a traitor dares 

Is but a kindled spark 
To set ablaze thy people's prayers 

For Thee, the nation's Ark I 



THE MOON AND MOONSHINE. 35 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Upon a slumbering lake at night 

The moon looks down in love, 
And there, in chasten 'd beauty bright, 
A sister sphere of silver light 

Seems bathing from above. 

Anon, an evil man comes near, 

And a rude stone he flings, 
Half in hate and half in fear. 
To crush the calm accusing sphere 

That looks such lovely things. 

He flung, and struck; and in swift race 

Round ran the startled waves; 
He triumph'd for a little space; 
But see ! how soon that same calm face 

Again her beauty laves. 

So, friend, if envy hits thy name. 

Be still, it passes soon; 
Thy lamp is burning all the same. 
And, even for that moonshine Fame, 

It must reflect its Moon. 



fels nr rnrBs!'' 



A LAMENTATION. 

The world is dying, its heart is cold. 
And well nigh frozen dead, — 

A son'owful thing it is to grow old. 
With all the feelings fled, — 



"nobody feels or cares." 

Dull are its eyes, and dismal its voice, 
And a mourner's cloak it wears, 

For all have forgotten to love or rejoice, — 
Nobody feels or cares ! 

Time was, when zeal and honour and joy. 

And charities cheering life, 
Mix'd grains of gold with the mass of alloy. 

And Starr' d this night of strife; 
But now, it is all for a man's own self. 

And not how his neighbour fares; 
Except for pleasure, and pride, and pelf. 

Nobody feels or cares! 

Be wise, or a fool, — be good or be bad. 

To others it's much the same; 
They heed not a whit if you're merry or sad. 

Or worthy of praise or blame : 
The world is reaping its broadcast seed 

Of briers and thorns and tares. 
And the only word in which all are agreed 

Is — Nobody feels or cares! 



AN OLD NORMAN APPEAL TO THE SOVEREIGN; 
which saved Castle Cornet from demolition, in August 1850, Guernsey. 

Haro, Haro ! a I'aide, mon Prince ! 

A loyal people calls; 
Bring out Duke Rollo's Norman lance 
To stay destruction's fell advance 

Against the Castle walls; — 



THE " CLAM EUR DEHARO." 87 

Haro, Haro ! a Faide, ma Reine ! 
Thy duteous children not in vain 
Plead for old Cornet yet again 

To spare it, ere it falls ! 
What ! shall Earl Rodolph's sturdy strength 
After six hundred years at length 

Be recklessly laid low? 
His grey machicolated tower 
Torn down within one outraged hour 
By worse than Vandal's ruthless power? 

Haro ! a Taide, Haro ! 

Nine years old Cornet, for the Throne, 
Against rebellion stood alone, — 

And honoured still shall stand 
For heroism so sublime, 
A relic of the olden time, 
E-enown'd in Guernsey prose and rhyme, 

The glory of her land ! 
Ay, — let your science scheme and plan 

With better skill than so: 
Touch not this dear old barbican, 

Nor dare to lay it low ! 
On Vazon's ill-protected bay 
Build and blow up, as best ye may. 
And do your worst to scare away 

Some visionary foe, — 
But, if in brute and blundering power 
You tear down Rodolph's granite tower, 
Defeat, and scorn, and shame, that hour 
Shall whelm you like an arrowy shower, — 

Haro! h I'aide, Haro! 



88 MONT OR'GUEIL: JERSEY, 



3JlDiit (Orguril: Smt^. 

AN HISTORICAL PICTURE. 

Mount of Honour, Mount of Pride, 
Throned above the stormy tide, — 
Feudal eyrie, built on high, 
As to flout the common sky, 
Weather-beaten, ivied pile. 
Glory of this Norman isle, — 
Thee my song would praise to-day, 
Dreaming of ages past away ! 

Woe ! for those old evil times, 

Foul with wrong, and full of crimes; 

Woe ! for those drear days of old. 

Dark with horrors all untold ! 

Through the mist of centuries past, 

Dimly cluster'd, thick and fast, 

Shrouded in sepulchral gl(5om, 

Shadowy forms of terror loom ! 

See ! the Cromlech on this height, 

Red with the Druid's bloody rite, — 

The Beacon, blazing far away, 

To beckon pirates to their prey, — 

The Cairn, piled high above the wave 

Some rude Berserkir's gory grave, — 

The rocky Fort, aloft that stood 

To guard some Sea-king's briny brood. 

When off he flew, for blood to roam. 

Leaving his vulture flock at home, — 

All these, with Shame, and Sin, and Fear, 

Dimly vision' d, cluster here ! 

Then, Home's vengeful cohorts came 
To cleanse the nest by sword and flame; 



MONT ORGUEIL: JERSEY. 39 

With foss and mouud secured the post, 
And mann'd it with her iron host : 
So on, so on; till EoUo's power 
Tore down amain the Roman's tower, 
And proudly flung against the sky 
Old Gouray's battlements on high ! 
This was thine hour of pride and fame ; 
"When gentle knight, and high-born dame, 
In hall, and bower, and warder' d gate 
Kept their high chivalric state : 
Nor soon was this thy glory set; — 
De Barentin, De Carteret, 
Stand forth ! and tell us of your might 
Against Du Guesclin in the fight; 
How the Great Captain lost the day, 
And rash Maulevrier slunk away, 
x\nd our fifth Henry's favouring smile 
Changed Gouray Fort to Mont Orgueil, 
For patriot praise, and truth well tried, 
Mount of honour. Mount of Pride ! 

So on, so on : and yeare flew by 

That times were changed, and words ran high, 

And fanatics stood charged with sin. 

And foolish zeal imprison' d Prynne : 

Then Charles, in retribution's hour, 

Felt here a despot people's power. 

Hiding his wanderer head awhile, 

Ere yet he left the loyal isle. 

So, years flew on; by scores they past. 

And kings and kingdoms perish'd fast; 

Till a fair Queen, in happier days 

Bless 'd all her realm with peaceful praise, 

And gilt, with Her benignant smile, 

Her royal castle. Mount Orgueil ! 



40 MONT ORGUEIL: JERSEY. 

0, God be tliank'd^ for quiet hours, 
When nought is known of feudal towers, 
But the fair picture that they fill, 
With sea, and sky, and wooded hill ! 
O, Grod be thank'd for times like these, 
Of brother's love, and grateful ease, 
When war no fiercer sight afi'ords 
Than ivied forts, and rusty swords I 



A RHYME FOR RAGGED SCHOOLS. 
(Widely circulated.) 

Come to the schools that your friends are preparing. 

Poor little brothers, come over to us ! 
Just as you stand in the clothes you are wearing, 

Though they be ragged and scanty as thus; 
Come from the alley, the lane, and the passage, 

Come in your rags, — but as clean as you can; 
We have a mission to each, and a message, 

Happy and true, of his rights as a Man. 

Don't be downhearted, if fools for an hour 

Laugh at your schooling and treat it with scorn; 
Answer them truly, that "Knowledge is Power," 

And that a blockhead were better unborn; 
Laugh as they may, your laugh will be longest, 

Your's is for ever, their's but for once; 
Soon shall they own you both wisest and strongest; 

Scholars must govern the fool and the dunce ! 



COMEASYOUARE. 41 

Yes, my boys, come ! without fear or suspicion, 

All that we wish is your gaiu and your good 
Body and soul to improve your condition, 

And we would better it more if we could; 
But where we cannot, yourselves may be able, 

Willingly coming to hear and to learn. 
How, for the soul to be happy and stable. 

And, for the body, your living to earn ! 

So then come over, young scholars, and listen. 

Helping yourselves, as in honour you ought ! 
We'll tell you things that'll make your eyes glisten, 

Brighten the spirit, and heighten the thought; 
Come then, and welcome, in rags and in tatters, 

Anyhow come, — but as clean as you can; 
Come and learn gladly these glorious matters, 

All the best rights in the duties of Man ! 



A COXDOLEXCE OX THE SPOT. 

Alas ! for thy pollutions, wondrous pile. 
Rare pyramid of Nature and high Art, 
Desecrate, and befoul'd in every part 

By all that moderns add of mean and vile : 
Woe, for thine ancient glories gone to waste ! 

These sculptured cloisters, and that lofty aisle, 
This arch'd chivalric hall of sumptuous taste, 

Those Norman turrets, (whose unconquer'd strength 
Enclose the steep old town of gables strange) — 

After a thousand years, all, all at length 
4* 



42 MONTST. INIICIIEL. 

Given up to filth and felons ! — gaol-birds range 
Where erst devoted maids and holy men 

Peal'd their full anthem : — the bitter change, 
Heaven's gorgeous house become corruption's den!* 

Thou sad Romance in stone among the seas, — 
Monstrous Chima3ra, saint and fiend in one, 
Where the Archangel, soaring to the sun. 

Feels the brute serpent coil'd about his knees; 

pinnacles, and flying buttresses 

Rear'd on a festering heap of foul and base; 

O hallowed Pharos, rank with oily lees; 

censer, spoil' d of all thy fragrant grace, — 
Alas ! how fair, how fearful is this place ! 

Round it, the garden of Hesperides 

Once bloom' d, — with that " old dragon '^ for a guard 
The stone Kimmerian windings of Carnac; 

But now, the light that since blazed heavenward 
Is quench'd, — and all again is utter black ! 



§1 Mtiin'B Irrniitflgi^; Mm\\. 

A VINDICATION. 

Anchorite, whose rugged nest, 

Swept by wind and wash'd by wave, 
Perch' d on yonder rocky crest 

Was thy dwelling, and thy grave, — 
Should I mock thee, holy man? 

Should I not revere thy name? 
Nor do honour, if I can. 

To St. Ilelier's martyr-fame? 



ST. helier's hermit age, JERS EY. 43 

Come, ye scoffers, and behold ! 

Here is the luxurious bed 
"Where your pamper'd monk of old 

Nightly laid his aged head : 
In this cave he wept, and pray'd, — 

Till the Northman pirate came, 
And achieved with bloody blade 

Our poor hermit's martyr-fame ! 



True, — in venial error still 

His devotion stood aloof 
From the world and all its ill, 

Under this low vaulted roof; 
Yet, he wrestled in his cell 

For high heav'n his soul to frame, — 
ye worldlings, it were well 

Could ye win such martyr-fame ! 



It. ^ml'B, nf It. Mm. 

AN APPEAL, WRITTEN BY REQUEST. 

Beautiful Isle ! where the Exile of Glory 

Sank to his rest, like the sun in the sea, — 
Fair St. Helena, — his fate and his story 

Are not the best that we boast of in thee; 
No ! nor is even the bloom of thy beauty 

Finest and first in the glen or the height. 
But — where thy children in love and in duty 

Earnestly worship The Father aright ! 



44 ST. Paul's, of st. Helena. 

Lo now ! this friiit of their pious devotion 

G-rows, like a cedar on Lebanon's side; 
Slowly, " St. Paul's," the Church of the Ocean, 

Rises to brighten Atlantic's dark tide ! • 

Thither, shall soon be gladly repairing 

Sons of the stranger, with sons of the soil, — 
Thither, poor Africa's children, preparing 

Thanks for their freedom from tyrannous toil. 

Soon? but how soon? — Right heartily speed it, 

Ye that fear God, and are loving to man ! 
Haste with your aid, — they ask it and need it; 

Help the good work with the best that you can : 
What St. Helena is nobly beginning 

Stand by her, England ! to finish it all. 
And, by the souls that your zeal will be winning, 

Crown with its top-stone The Church of St. Paul ! 



f nl. 

Struck down at noon amid the startled throng, 

An eagle shot while soaring to the sun; 
A wounded gladiator dying strong 

As loth to leave the glories he had won; 

A life-long patriot, with his work half done, — 
Of thee, great Statesman, shall my mourning song 

Arise in due solemnity ! — of thee. 
Whom the wide world, so lately and so long 

Thine acolyte, would crowd to hear and see 
Their intellectual Athlete, .their high name 

For eloquence and prudence, gifts and powers: 
But lo ! that starry mind, a heavenly flame. 

Is well enfranchised from this earth of ours, 
Translated in the zenith of its fame ! 



WORDSWORTH. 46 



JJJnriiHinnttli. 



We will not sorrow for the glorious dead, — 

Death is The Life to glory's hallow'd sons ! 
Above this body, in its prison-bed, 

Soar the free spirits of those blessed ones, 
Waiting in hope, on heavenly manna fed : 
To such rich feast in beauteous raiment led. 

Why should we wail for him, as those who wept 
Some Lycidas or Bion of old time. 

Mourning as dead the soul that only slept? 
No ! rather, let the paean rise sublime 

For nature's poet-priest from nature's voice,— 
Let sea and sky be glad, and field, and fen, 
And pastoral vale, and thunder-riven glen, 

And dewy Rydal in her bard rejoice ! 

For there, by hill or dale, in sun or shade, 

He "communed with the universe" in love; 
"The deep foundations of his mind" were laid, 

Sphered in their midst, on all around, above : 
He, read God's heart, in all His hand hath made: 

Then, in the majesty of simple truth. 
To man's dim mind he show'd the mind of God 

Lustrous and lovely, "full of pity and ruth," 
For high and low, the sunbeam — and the sod ! 

So did he teach in age, as erst in youth, — 
To turn away from passion's lurid light, 

And yearn on purer things of lowlier birth. 
Pure because lowly, — which, in God's own sight, 

As in his servants', are the pearls of earth. 



46 CAMBRIDGE. 

fomkiigt 

Another of thy chiefs, Israel, 

Gone to a good man's rest, and high reward, 
As full of years as honours; it is well 

Thus timely to be called to meet the Lord ! 
O death, — how oft Britannia tolls the knell 

For those she loves, a mother for her sons ! 
Yet is it seldom that her tongue can tell 

More truly how she mourns her mighty ones, 
Than now in honest sorrow fills her breast; 
For he was worthy; full of kindliness, 

A man of peace, and charity, and truth; 
For ever doing good, and feeling blest 

(Though nurtured as a warrior from his youth) 
In finding what a joy it is to bless ! 



"I AM prepared to die; for I have tried 

To do my Duty!" — Was it Nelson's twin 
Who spake so like an hero when he died, . ^ 

A Christian hero, with forgiven sin? 
Yes ! — it is one, Columbia's honest pride 

(And mother England's joy, — we claim him too,) 

Who now is gone far other spoils to win 
Than late of Palo- Alto, — higher meed, 

Trophies of nobler fame, and praise more true, 
Than those a grateful country well decreed 

To her Best Son ; her best and bravest son, 
Bough for the fight, but Keady heart and hand 

To make it up again with victory won, 
In war — and peace — the Glory of his Land! 



RAJAHRROOKE. 47 



Enjnlj foxukh 

Noble heart, of purpose high, 

Hasten on thy great career, 
Heedless of the coward cry 

Slander shouts in Envy's ear; 
Even now the falsehoods die, 

Half for shame and half for fear, 
Even now the clouds go by. 

And thy heaven again is clear ! 

Let them whisper what they can. 

Lightly scoff, or loudly blame; 
Still, glorious fiiend of Man, 

Such mean censure speeds thy fame: 
Good men bless, where bad men ban; 

Ever was it seen the same. 
That the leader of the van 

Won his way through foes and flame! 

Rajah ! throned on Indian seas. 

Thou art there to bless Mankind, 
Sent to sow by every breeze 

Seeds of good for heart and mind; 
Carrying out Grod's great decrees 

To the Saxon race assign'd, 
Which the Right all stoutly frees. 

But is stern the Wrong to bind! 



48 AFRICAS SELF-BLOCKADE. 

afritn's |tlf-331ntltniiB. 

Sister, we are not slow to learn of thee 

How best to compass good; how best to pour 
Freedom and health, as on Liberia's shore, 

Along the skirt of Afric's Western sea; 
Sister Columbia, wiser than of yore 

We love in all things generous to agree ! 

And, well content if blessing so may be 

To the poor darkling slave, a slave no more, 
Frankly we haste to fringe the sea-board thus 

With homes and fields of freemen : glad to win 
Around the standards reared by thee and us. 

Body and soul, the rescued sons of sin 
From both worlds' doom of wretchedest and worst, 
Through us no more benighted nor accurst ! 



tm Ipirits, 

It is not Time, — I joy to see 

My children growing up; 
It is not Sin, — remorse for me 

Holds out no bitter cup; 
Nor doth Mammon's di'eary din 

Add its gloom to Time or Sin. 

It is not that the Past was sweet, — 

Many griefs were there ! 
It is not that the Future's feet 

Are shrouded up in care; 
Providence is wise and kind. 
And I am strong for heart and mind. 



LOW SPIRITS. 49 

"Why then be sad ? why thus, my heart, 

Disquieted within ? 
Great is the mercy that thou art 

Unseared by care and sin ; 
That Time to Thee has small alloy, 
And memory's thoughts are thoughts of joy. 

Why then so sad? — My friends of old 

Are dead and gone, or changed; 
My childhood's nest of home is cold, 

And each old haunt estranged; 
So that I walk a stranger there, 
With none to feel for how I fare ! 

True, — many newfound friends may throng, 

And make a passing show; 
But always as they stream along 

Like dreams they come and go, — 
And, — however kind they be. 
They bring not back the Past to me ! 



Jfnrtittik 

NEW WORDS TO THE FIXE TUNE, " MYNHEER VAN DUNK." 

Mine own stout heart! 
You and I must never part. 
But bravely get on together, — 
Through calm and strife. 
And the ups and downs of life, 
In winter, or summer weather ! 
Singing, ! for a true bold heart shall be 
Ever found in its warm old place with me, 
Cheerful evermore, and frank, and free. 
Though the Mountains be drown'd in the rolling Seal 
5 



50 FORTITUDE. 

Troubles, well seasoned, as being well sent, 

No honest man dreams of scorning; 
But he mixes them up in his cup of content, 
And fears no foes 
While he happily knows 
That Night must end in Morning! 
For a brave glad heart shall always be 
Beating in its own warm nest with me, 
Cheerful evermore, and frank, and free. 
Though the Mountains be drown' d in the rolling Sea! 



^' W>m miirji mnu it tnigjit ^mt toBE ! '' 

A TEXT FOR THE DISCONTENTED. 

Honest fellow, sore beset, 

Vext by troubles quick and keen, 
Thankfully consider yet 

"How much worse it might have been!" 
"Worthily thy faults deserve 

More than all thine eyes have seen. 
Think thou then with sterner nerve, 

" How much worse it might have been \" 

Though the night be dark and long, 

Morning soon shall break serene, 
And the burden of thy song 

" How much worse it might have been ! *' 
God, the Good One, calls to us 

On His Providence to lean, 
Shout then out devoutly thus, 

*^How much worse it might have been!" 



A NIGHT-SAIL IN THE RACE OF ALDERNEY. 51 

a iigljt-snil IE tjjB fxm nf Sllkmtf. 

Sept. 6, 1850. 

Sprinkled thick with shining studs, 

Stretches wide the tent of heaven, 

Bhie, begemm'd with golden buds, — 

Calm, and bright, and deep, and clear, 
Glory^s hollow hemisphere 
Arch'd above these frothing floods, 

Right and left asunder riven, 
As our cutter madly scuds. 
By the fitful breezes driven, 
When exultingly she sweeps 
Like a dolphin through the deeps, 
And from wave to wave she leaps. 
Rolling in this yeasty leaven, — 

Ragingly that never sleeps, 
Like the wicked unforgiven ! 

Midnight, soft and fair above. 

Midnight, fierce and dark beneath,-^ 
All on high the smile of love. 

All below the frown of death : 
Waves that whirl in angry spite 
With a phosphorescent light 
Gleaming ghastly on the night, — 

Like the pallid sneer of Doom, 
So malicious, cold, and white. 

Luring to this watery tomb, 
Where in fury and in fright 
Winds and waves together fight 



A NIGHT-SAIL IN THE RACE OF ALDERNEY. 

Hideously amid the gloom, — 
As our cutter gladly scuds, 

Dipping deep her sheeted boom 
Madly to the boiling sea, 
Lighted in these furious floods 
By that blaze of brilliant studs, 
Grlistening down like glory-buds 
On the Race of Alderney! 



When the star of good fortune is rising, 

And seems to the zenith to soar, 
How tenderly friends will be prizing 
The beauties forgotten before; 
O ! Genius will look very bright 
In the blaze of Prosperity's light! 

But let the dimm'd planet be setting 

Below the horizon in cloud. 
Right soon will your friends be forgetting 
The gifts they so frankly allowed; 
Ah ! Genius will show very slight 
In the gloom of Adversity's night! 

Yet none the less glorious and holy 

Is shining that sun of the soul. 
Let Fortune be lofty or lowly. 

And Friendship rejoice or condole; 
For Genius can claim as his right 
True homage by day and by night! 



THE MANCHESTER ATHENAEUM. 63 

( Stanzas, solicited, in aid of its Liabilities, Oct. 1850. ) 

A TEMPLE of generous health, 

To gladden the spirit of youth; 
A mine of intelligent wealth, 

A treasury teeming with truth, — 
Come, help in so happy a work. 

Such pleasure and gain to secure, 
Gain, where little evil can lurk. 

And pleasure can only be pure ! 

How wise it must be and how blest, 

After the toils of the day. 
That body and mind be at rest, 

Whiling their sorrows away; 
Consider how grateful a thing 

Such rational solace to find, 
And Ignorance gladly to bring 

To feast upon food for the Mind! 

Remember, how wise for the young 

So purely their evenings to spend 
The poets and sages among, 

With every good book for a friend! 
Remember, how well for the old 

To rub the dull heart from its rust, 
That earthly pollutions and gold 

Drag it not down to the dust! 

Then freely and frankly make haste 
To help, where your help is so worth; 

And let not this temple of taste. 
So full of the treasures of earth, 
5* 



64 THE MANCHESTER ATHENiEUM. 

Througli negligence go to decay; 

But rather in truth and in deed, 
May Manchester glory to-day, 

That Britain has bid her God-speed! 



^t lingslnu (CnrDimtinii §\mt 

(^A Stave, solicited at its Inauguratioii, Oct. 1850.) 

Kejoice ! that Praise and Honour at length 

Return to their ancient rest, — • 
As a wounded eagle gathers his strength 

To recover his rock-built nest; 
For of old, around yon rugged throne 

Tradition tenderly clings, 
To hail that stone, as its brother of Scone, 

The Throne of the Seven Kings ! 

Edward the Elder there vi^as crown'd. 

Great Alfred's glorious son, — 
And Athelstan, thro' the wide world renowned 

For merchant-trophies won, — 
Edmund and Ethelred, in high state, 

With Eldred, and Edwy the Fair, 
And Edward, due to a Martyr's fate. 

Were throned in honour there ! 

Thou then, such ancestry's Boyal seed, 

Britannia's Heiress-Queen ! 
In grace consider the loyal deed 

Thy Saxon children mean; 
To the time-hallowed Past its homage due 

The Present wisely brings, 
And thus would we pour our chrism anew 

On the Throne of the Seven Kings ! 



ASTAVEOFSYMPATHY. 56 



a §ku nf liiinpntljtf. 



(Offered, in lieu of a solicited Lecture, to the Young 3Ie?i's Christian Asso- 
ciation, Nov. 1850.) 

My blessing, young brother ! an honest God-speed, 

A Christian and true British cheer ! 
The best and wisest among us have need 

Of hearty encouragement here : 
And wholesome it is to be hail'd, as we go 

Along the dark rapids of life, 
By those who are weath'ring the perils, and know % 

The way to be steer 'd in the strife ! 

By diligence, brother, and quiet content; 

By purity, growing from prayer; 
By looking on all things as order' d and sent 
■ From God, in His fatherly care; 
By thrusting the cup of temptation aside, 

And tasting it — no ! not a sip ! 
By cleansing the head from the cobwebs of pride, 

And banishing scorn from the lip. 

By reading, and working, and doing your best 

In all that is duty to do; 
By frankness, and fairness, and kindness exprest 

To all that have dealings with you; 
By cheerfulness, hopefulness, gratitude, truth; 

By shunning the thing that is mean; 
By looking to God as the guide of your youth, 

And loving your country and Queen ! 



66 ASTAVEOFSYMPATHY. 

Steer thus, young brother! and you will indeed 

Ride safe, though the surges be vext; 
In this world I warrant you well to succeed, 

And better than well in the next: 
Go on, and be prosper'd ! " Enough, and to spare,' 

To godliness ever is given; 
By pureness and diligence, patience and prayer, 

you conquer for Earth and for Heaven! 



d^nrDtinigBmfnt. 

A COMPANION BALLAD TO THE " STAVE OF SYMPATHY." 

Yet one more cheer, one brotherly cheer. 
To speed the good youth on his way ! 
There's plenty to hope, and little to fear 
For those who have chosen the good part here, 
While it is called to-day. 

Ah ! well do I wot the perils and snares 

Of this bad world and its lust; 
Temptations and sorrows, vexations and cares. 
Grow with the heart's young wheat like tares, 

And worry it down to the dust ! 

Yet, better I know, if the spirit will pray. 

When trouble is near at hand, — 
If the heart pleads hard for grace to obey, 
Brother ! no sin shall lure thee astray, — 
By faith thou still shalt stand ! 



ENCOURAGEMENT. 57 

For Heaven bends over to help and to bless 

With all a Redeemer's power 
The spirit that strives, when evils oppress, 
Its God to serve, and its Lord to confess 

In dark temptation's hour. 

Thou, then, fair brother, go cheerily forth, 

And manfully do your best! 
In all sincerity's warmth and worth 
G-o forth, — be pure, be happy on earth, 

And so evermore be blest! 



Given, instead of a solicited Lecture, to the Church of England Young MerHi 
Society, for aiding Missions at home and abroad. 

A CALL to do good from the east to the west! 
A call to bless others, and so to be blest ! 
A call from the Saviour, beside Him to stand 
And work for His glory, with heart and with hand! 

Nurtured in knowledge, and favour'd and spared. 
The best of earth's banquet for us is prepared; 
Then well should we hasten, at home and abroad, 
^0 care for the poor in the name of the Lord ! 

For, always about us the poor shall be found. 
Poor for both worlds, ever crowding around; 
And always the battle of truth must be fought 
In sin to be conquer'd, and good to be taught ! 



68 A MISSIONARY BALLAD. 

Heathens abroad, and heathens at home; — 
Not far is the need for your missions to roam; 
Our highways and byeways, the streets and the lanes, 
Claim the first care, and will yield the first gains : 

Then, — (for the soldiers of Heaven's true host 
Are marshaird for conquest on every coast,) — 
Britain's dear sons on each far-distant land 
Ask the next blessing and help at your hand: 

Then, — let the banner of grace be unfurl'd 
Free as the winds, and wide as the world; — 
And chiefly, help Zion, poor outcast of sin, 
# The mercies of God through your mercy to win ! 

Sure is your work of a blessed reward, — 

Ye serve a good Master in serving the Lord; 

Even were others unblest by your zeal. 

It is well, — ye are water'd yourselves for your weal! 

But, — it is better! yet more shall ye earn, — 
Many to righteousness Now shall ye turn, 
And like the stars Hereafter shall shine 
For ever and ever in glory divine ! 



€)}t tmxtl €xmn. 

The laurel crown ! for duty done, 
For good achieved, and honours won, 
For all of natural gift, or art, 
That thrills and fills an earnest heart 



THE LAUREL CROWN. 69. 

"WitH generous thoughts and stirring words 
Struck from its own electric chords, — 
On these your modern muses frown, 
Yet these deserve the laurel crown! 



The laurel crown ! for soaring song 
Eagle-pinion'd, free, and strong, 
That, as God gives grace and power, 
Consecrates each hallow'd hour 
Wisely, as a patriot ought, 
By burning word and glowing thought, — 
On this pour all your honours down, 
To this belongs the laurel crown! 

The laurel crown ! in common eyes 

A wreath of leaves, a paltry prize, 

A silly, worthless, weed-like thing, 

Fit coronet for folly's king: 

The laurel crown 1 in wisdom's ken 

A call from GoD to waken men. 

Lest in these mammon depths they drown,- 

This is thy glory, laurel crown! 

Yes, laurel crown I if seen aright, 
A majesty of moral might 
To lead the masses on to good, 
And rule the surging multitude 
By nobler and more manly songs 
Than to some troubadour belongs, 
Who feebly warbles for renown, — 
Not such be thou my laurel crown! 



60 HOME. 



fsmt 

A BALLAD FOR EYERTBODT. 

I FORAGED all over this joy-dotted earth, 

To pick its best nosegay of innocent mirth 

Tied up with the bands of its wisdom and worth, — 

And lo ! its chief treasure. 

Its innermost pleasure, 

Was always at Home ! 

I went to the Palace, and there my fair Queen 
On the arm of Her Husband did lovingly lean. 
And all the dear babes in their beauty were seen, 

In spite of the splendour. 

So happy and tender, 

For they were at Home ! 

I turn'd to the cottage, and there my poor hind 

Lay sick of a fever, — all meekly resign' d. 

For ! the good wife was so cheerful and kind, 

In spite of all matters. 

An angel in tatters. 

And she was at Home ! 

I ask'd a glad mother, just come from the post 

With a letter she kiss'd from a far-away coast. 

What heart-thrilling news had rejoiced her the most — 

And — gladness for mourning! 

Her boy was returning 

To love her — at Home! 

I spoke to the soldiers and sailors at sea. 

Where best in the world would they all of them be? 

And hark! how they earnestly shouted to me. 



HOME. 61 

With iron hearts throbbing, 
And choking and sobbing, 
— land us at Home ! 

I came to the desk where old Commerce grew grey, 
And askM him what help'd him this many a day ^ 
In his old smoky room with his ledger to stay? 

And it all was the beauty, 

The comfort and duty. 

That cheer'd him at Home ! 

I ran to the court, where the sages of law 

Were wrangling and jangling at quibble and flaw, — 

wondrous to me was the strife that I saw! 

But all that fierce riot 
Was calm'd by the quiet 

That blest them at Home ! 

1 caird on the school-boy, poor love-stricken lad, 
Who yearn'd in his loneliness, silent and sad. 

For the days when again he should laugh and be glad 
With his father and mother. 
And sister and brother. 
All happy at Home ! 

I tapp'd at the door of the year-stricken Eld, 

Where age, as I thought, had old memories quell'd, — 

But still all his garrulous fancies outwell'd 

Strange old-fashion 'd stories 

Of pleasures and glories 

That once were at Home ! 

I whisper'd the prodigal, wanton and wild, 
— How changed from the heart that you had when a child, 
So teachable, noble, and modest, and mild ! — 
6 



HOME. 

Thougli Sin had undone him, 
Thank God that I won him 
By looking at Home ! 

And then, when he wept and vowed better life, 
I hastened to snatch him from peril and strife, 
By finding him wisely a tender young Wife, — 

Whose love should allure him. 

And gently secure him 
A convert at Home ! 

So he that had raced after pleasure so fast, 
And still as he ran had its goal overpast, 
Found happiness, honour, and blessing at last 

In all the kind dealings, 

Afiections and feelings, 
That ripen at Home ! 



Eirli nntr ^hut 

A BALLAD FOR UNION. 

LADIES, lords, and gentlemen, 
Attend to what I say, ^ 

For well I wot you'll like it when 

You listen to my lay; 
And labourers and weavers too, 

Come near, whoever can, 

1 want the best of all of you, 
To build a Noble Man. 



RICH AND POOR. 68 

The time is past for lofty looks, 

As well as vulgar deeds; 
Religion, common-sense, and books, 

these are magic seeds ! 
They kill whate'er in man was proud, 

And nourish what is wise, 
And feed the humblest of the crowd 

With manna from the skies. 

Ay, dreary days of highbred scorn, 

YouVe somewhile died away, — 
And better were the fool unborn, 

Who tries it on to-day: 
Ay, wintry nights of lowbred sin, 

You've stolen out of sight. 
And all things base, without, within. 

Are scattered by the light. 

Take copy of the small, ye great ! 

In all that's free and frank; 
Add cordial ways to courteous state, 

And heartiness to rank : 
Take copy of the great, ye small, 

In all that's soft and fair. 
Honourable to each and all, 

And gentle everywhere ! 

The Gracious Source of all our wealth 

In body, mind, or store. 
Pours life and light and hope and health 

Alike on rich and poor; 
And though so many covet ill 

Some neighbour's happier state, 
They little heed how kind a Will 

Has fixed them in their fate. 



64 RICH AND POOR. 

Think, justly think, what liberal aids 

Invention gives to all, 
While Truth shines out, and Error fades, 

Alike for great and small; 
How well the rail, the post, the press, 

Help universal Man, 
The highest peer, and hardly less 

The humblest artizan. 

•Religion, like an angel, stands 

To solace every mind; 
And Science, with her hundred hands, 

Is blessing all mankind; 
All eyes may see a beauteous sight, 

All ears may hear sweet sound, 
And sage-desired seeds of light 

Are broadcast all around. 

Lo, the high places levelling down ! 

The valleys jSlling up ! 
Magnates, who ought to wear a crown. 

Drain Charity's cold cup; 
While Industry, of humblest birth. 

With Prudence well allied, 
O'ertops the topmost peaks of earth. 

The palaces of pride. 

Be humble then, ye mighty men ! 

Be humble, poor of earth ! 
Be God alone exalted, when 

He speaks by plague and dearth ! 
Let each be grateful, friendly, true, — 

And that will be the plan, 
To make of peer, and peasant too, 

A truly Noble Man! 



THE SABBATH. 65 



€jiB Inlitiiitjj- 

A BALLAD FOR THE LABOURER. 

Six days in a week do I toil for my bread, 

And surely should feel like a slave, 
Except for a providence fix'd overhead 

That hallowed the duties it gave; 
I work for my mother, my babes, and my wife, 

And starving and stern is my toil, — 
For who can tell truly how hard is the life 

Of a labouring son of the soil? 

A debt to the doctor, a score at the shop. 

And plenty of trouble and strife, — 
While backbreakiug toil makes me ready to drop, 

Worn out and aweary of life ! 
0, were there no gaps in the month or the year. 

No comfort, or peace, or repose, 
How long should I battle with miseries here. 

How soon be weighed down by my woes? 

Six days in the week, then, I struggle and strive, 

And ! but the seventh is blest ; 
Then only I seem to be free and alive, 

My soul and my body at rest: 
I needn't get up in the cold and the dark, 

I need n't go work in the rain, 
On that happy morning I wait till the lark 

Has trill'd to the sunshine again! 

Unhun-ied for once, well shaven and clean. 
With babes and the mother at meals, 

I gather what home and its happiness mean, 
And feel as a gentleman feels; 
6* 



66 THE SABBATH. 

Then drest in my best I go blithely to church, 

And meet my old mates on the way, 
To gossip awhile in the ivy'd old porch, 

And hear all the news of the day. 

And soon as the chimes of the merry bells cease, 

— rare is the bell-ringers' din ! — 
We calmly compose us to prayer and to peace. 

As Jabez is tolling us in : 
And then in the place where my fathers have pray'd, 

I praise and I pray at my best, 
And smile as their child when I hope to be laid 

In the same bit of turf where they rest ! 

For wisely his Reverence tells of the dead 

As living, and waiting indeed 
A bright Resurrection, — 'twas happily said, — 

From earth and its misery freed ! 
And then do I know that though poor I am rich. 

An heir of great glories above. 
Till it seems like a throne, — my old seat in the niche 

Of the wall of the church that I love ! 

So, praise the Grood Lord for his sabbaths, I say. 

So kindly reserved for the poor; 
The wealthy can rest and be taught any day, 

But we have but one and no more! 
Ay, — what were the labouring man without these 

His sabbaths of body and mind? 
A workweary wretch without respite or ease, 

The curse and reproach of his kind ! 

And don't you be telling me, sages of trade, 

The seventh's a loss in my gain; 
I pretty well guess of what stuff you are made, 

And know what you mean in the main: 



THESABBATH. 67 

You mete out the work, and the wages you fix, 

And care for the make, not the men; 
For seven you'd pay us the same as for six, 

And who would be day-winners then? 

No, no, my shrewd masters, thank God that His law — 

The Sabbath — is law of the land; 
Thank God that his wisdom so truly foresaw 

What mercy so lovingly plann'd : 
My babes go to school; and my Bible is read; 

And I walk in my holiday dress; 
And I get better fed; and my bones lie abed, — 

And my wages are nothing the less. 

Then Praises to God, — and all health to the Queen, — 

And thanks for the Sabbath, say I ! 
It is as it shall be, and ever has been. 

The earthgrubber's glimpse at the sky; 
The Sabbath is ours, my mates of the field, — 

A holiday once in the seven; 
The Sabbath to Mammon we never will yield, 

It is Poverty's foretaste of Heaven ! 



€)}t Innip irpnn tIjB lUiltnntj (Ungte/' 



A BALLAD OF COilPOSURE. 



Shining in its silver cell. 

Like a Hermit calm and quiet, — 
Though so near it, hot as hell. 

Furious fires rave and riot, — 



"THE LAMP UPON THE RAILWAY ENGINE, 

Posted as an eye in front, 

'Mid the smoke and steam and singeing, 
Steadily bears all the brunt, 

The Lamp upon the railway engine. 

So, thou traveller of life, 

In the battle round thee crashing 
Heed no more the stormy strife 

Than a rock the billows dashing: 
Through this dark and dreary night, 

Vexing fears, and cares unhingeing. 
Shine, Mind, aloft, alight. 

The Lamp upon the railway engine. 

By the oil of Grace well fed, 

Ever on the Future gazing. 
Let the star within thy head 

Steadily and calmly blazing 
Hold upon its duteous way 

Through each ordeal unflinching, 
Trimm'd to burn till dawn of Day, 

The Lamp upon the railway engine. 

Safe behind a crystal shield, 

Though the outer deluge drench us, 
Faith forbids a soul to yield. 

And no hurricane can quench us: 
No ! though forced along by fate 

At a pace so swift and swingeing. 
Calmly shine in silver state. 

Ye Lamps on every railway engine. 



LABOUR. 



A BALLAD FCR OUR MINES AND MANUFACTORIES. 

Fair work for fair wages ! — it 's all that we ask, 

An Englishman loves what is fair, — - 
"We '11 never complain of the toil or the task, 

If livelihood comes with the care; 
Fair work for fair wages! — we hope nothing else 

Of the mill, or the forge, or the soil. 
For the rich man who buys, and the poor man who 

Must pay and be paid for his toil ! 

Fair work for fair wages! — we know that the claim 

Is just between master and man; 
If the tables were turn'd, we would serve him the same, 

And promise we will when we can ! 
"We give to him industry, muscle, and thew, 

And heartily work for his wealth; 
So he will as honestly give what is due, 

Fair wages for labour in health ! 

Enough for the day, and a bit to put by 

Against illness, and slackness, and age; 
For change and misfortune are ever too nigh 

Alike to the fool and the sage ; 
But the fool in his harvest will wanton and waste. 

Forgetting the winter once more. 
While true British wisdom will timely make haste 

And save for the " basket and store I" 

Ay ; wantonness freezes to want, be assured. 

And drinking makes nothing to eat. 
And penury's wasting by waste is secured, 

And luxury starves in the street! 



70 LABOUR. 

And many a father witli little ones pale, 
So rack'd by his cares and his pains, 

Might now be all right if, when hearty and bale, 
He never had squander'd his gains! 

We know that prosperity's glittering sun 

Can shine but a little, and then. 
The harvest is over, the summer is done, 

Alike for the master and men: 
If the factory ship with its Captain on board 

Must beat in adversity's waves. 
One lot is for all ! for the great cotton lord 

And the poorest of Commerce's slaves; 

One lot! if extravagance reign'd in the home, 

Then poverty's wormwood and gall; 
If rational foresight of evils to come, 

A cheerful complacence in all; 
For sweet is the morsel that diligence earn'd, 

And sweeter, that prudence put by; 
And lessons of peace in affliction are learn' d. 

And wisdom that comes from on high ! 

For God, in His providence ruling above, 

And piloting all things below. 
Is ever unchangeable justice and love, 

In ordering welfare or woe : 
He blesses the prudent for heaven and earth. 

And gladdens the good at all times, — 
But frowns on the sinner, and darkens his mirth, 

And lashes his follies and crimes ! 

Alas ! for the babes, and the poor pallid wife 
Hurl'd down with the sot to despair, — 

Yet, — God shall reward in a happier life 
Their punishment, patience, and pra^r ! 



LABOUR. 71 

But woe to the caitiff, who, starved by his drinks, 

Was starving his children as well, — 
Man, break away from the treacherous links 

Of a chain that will drag you to Hell I 

Come along, come along, man ! it ^s never too late, • 

Though drowning, we throw you a rope ! 
Be quick and be quit of so fearful a fate, 

For while there is life there is hope ! 
So wisely come with us, and work like the rest, 

And save of your pay while you can; 
And Heaven will bless you for doing your best, 

And helping yourself like a man ! 

For Labour is money, and Labour is health, 

And Labour is duty on earth; 
And never was honour, or wisdom, or wealth, 

But Labour has been at its birth ! 
The rich, — in his father, his friend, or himself, 

By head or by hand must have toil'd, 
And the brow, that is canopied over with pelf. 

By Labour's own sweat has been soil'd! 



€)}t Mm Wmu 

A RHYME FOR THE MILLION. 

Pent in wynds and closes narrow. 

Breathing pestilential air, 
Crush'd beneath oppression's harrow. 

Faint with famine, bow'd with care,- 
Gaunt Affliction's sons and daughters! 

Why so slow to hear the call 
Which The Voice upon the waters 

Preaches solemnly to all? 



72 



THE NEW HOME. 

Hark ! Old Ocean's tongue of thunder 

Hoarsely calling bids you speed 
To the shores he held asunder 

Only for these times of need; 
Now, upon his friendly surges 

Ever ever roaring Come, 
All the sons of hope he urges 

To a new, a richer home ! 

England and her sea-girt sisters 

Pine for want in seeming wealth; 
Though the gaudy surface glisters, 

This is not the hue of health; 
1 the honest labour trying 

Vainly here to earn its bread, — 
! the willing workers dying, 

Unemploy'd, untaught, unfed! 

Thousand sights that melt to pity, — 

Move to fear, or — tempt to scorn! 
"Wretched swarms in field and city. 

Wherefore are these paupers born ! — 
Shall I tell you, heirs of pleasure? 

Shall I teach you, sons of pain? 
Unto both, each in his measure, 

Stir I now this earnest strain. 

Lo ! to every human creature 

Born upon this bounteous earth, 
Speaks the God of grace and nature, 

Speaks for plenty or for dearth; 
Till the ground; if not, thou starvest; 

Fear shall drive to duteous toil; 
Till the ground ; a golden harvest 

Then shall wave on every soil! 



I 



THENEWHOME. 78 

And behold ! the King All-glorious 

Unto Britain tythes the world, — 
Everywhere her crown victorious, 

Everywhere her cross unfurl' d ! 
God hath giv'n her distant regions, 

Broad and rich; and store of ships; 
God hath added homeborn legions, 

Steep'd in trouble to the lips! 

Join then in one holy tether 

Those whom Man hath put aside. 
Those whom God would link together, 

Earth and labour well-applied : 
Ho ! thou vast and wealthy nation, 

Wing thy fleets to every place, 
Fertilizing all creation 

With the Anglo-Saxon race ! 

England's frank and sturdy bearing, 

Scotland's judgment, true and tried, 
Erin's headlong headstrong daring, 

And the Welchman's honest pride; — 
Send these forth, and tame the savage. 

Sow his realms with British homes. 
Where till now wild monsters ravage, 

Or the wilder Bushman roams! 

Let, as erst in Magna Grsecia, 

Nobles, sages, join the ranks; 
And for vacant Austral-Asia 

Leave for good these swarming banks; 
Not as exiled, — but with honour! 

Told in tale, and sung in song; 
With the Queen, — God's blessing on her! — 

Speeding this good work along ! 



74 THENEWHOME. 

Then the wilderness shall blossom, 

And the desert, as the rose; 
While dear Earth's maternal bosom 

With abundance overjQows : 
Then shall Britain gladly number 

Crowds of children, now her dread, 
That her onward march encumber 

With the living and — the dead! 

Ay, for bitter is the contest 

As a struggle, life for life, 
Where the very meal thou wantest 

Was for little ones and wife, — 
Where they slowly pine and jDerish 

That the father may be strong. 
Some taskmaster's wealth to cherish, 

By his labour, right or wrong! 

Haste, then, all ye better natures, 

Heli3 in what must bless the World: 
See, those cellar-crowded creatures 

To despair's own dungeon hurl'd; 

Send — or lead them o'er the waters 

To the genial shores, -that give 
Britain's sacred sons and daughters 

Man's great privilege — to Live! 

There, — instead of scanty wages, 

Grinding rent and parish tax, — 
In the wood, unheard for ages. 

Rings the cheerful freeman's axe; 
Whilst in yonder cozy clearing. 

Home, sweet Home, rejoices life. 
Full of thoughts and things endearing. 

Merry babes and rosy wife! 



THENEWHOME. 75 

There, — instead of festering alleys, 

Noisome dirt, and gnawing dearth, — 
Sunny hills and smiling valleys 

Wait to yield the wealth of Earth ! 
All She asks is — human labour, 

Healthy in the open air; 
All she gives is — every neighbour 

Wealthy, hale, and happy There ! 



(Caltinrati. 



A BALLAD FOR THE UNLUCKY. 

I CAME into trouble; and comforting friends 

For charity hastened to find 
The very just cause for such righteous amends 

Rewarding a reprobate mind. 

Some hinted. He lives upon victuals — and drink; 

And so, to be honest, I do; 
Some others, — No wonder, we cannot but think, 

The false is unfortunate too : 

One said, like a Solomon, Pride has a fall; 

Another condemn'd me for Sloth ; 
Another thought neither accounted for all; 

Another felt sure it was both. 

Meanwhile was I diligent, humble, and pure, 

And patiently kissing the rod. 
And took it all well, for my spirit was sure 

It came from a covenant God. 



76 CALUMNY. 

Then I look'd in His Bible, and found there a man, 
Like me, with afflictions and friends; 

And learnt that, let Satan do all that he can, 
The Lord will make ample amends. 

So, trouble went from me; and Job was made whole; 

And friends slunk away in their shame: 
For Heaven's rich mercy gave body and soul 

Health, honour, good-fortune, and fame. 



jKirq tn Mmwb. 



A BALLAD OF HUMANITY. 

BOYS and men of British mould, 
With mother's milk within you ! 

A simple word for young and old, 
A word to warm and wini you; 

You've each and all got human hearts 
As well as human features. 

So hear me, while I take the parts 
Of all the poor dumb creatures. 

1 wot your lot is sometimes rough; 
But theirs is something rougher, — 

No hopes, no loves, — but pain enough. 

And only sense to suffer : 
You, men and boys, have friends and joys. 

And homes, and hopes in measure, — 
But these poor brutes are only mutes, 

And never knew a pleasure ! 



MERCY TO ANIMALS. 77 

A little water, chaff and hay, 

And sleep, the boon of Heaven, 
How great returns for these have they 

To your advantage given : 
And yet the worn-out horse, or ass, 

Who makes your daily gaining. 
Is paid with goad and thong, alas ! 

Though nobly uncomplaining. 

Stop, cruel boy ! you mean no ill. 

But never thought about it, — 
Why beat that patient donkey still? 

He goes as well without it : 
Here, taste and try a cut or two, — 

Ha ! you can shout and feel it ; 
Boy — that was Mercy's hint to you, — 

In shorter measure deal it. 

Stop, sullen man ! 'tis true to tell 

How ill the world has used you; 
The farmers did'nt treat you well. 

The squire's self refused you : 
But is that any reason why 

A bad revenge you're wreaking 
On that poor lame old horse, — whose eye 

Rebukes you without speaking? 

think not thou that this dumb brute 

Has no strong Friend to aid him; 
Nor hope, because his wrongs are mute. 

They rouse not God who made him! 
A little while, and you are — dead. 

With all your bitter feelings; 
How will the Judge, so just and dread, 

Reward your cruel dealings ? 



78 MERCY TO ANIMALS. 

GrO, do some good before you die 

To those who make your living; 
They will not ask you reasons why, 

Nor tax you for forgiving : 
Their mouths are mute; but most acute 

The woes whereby you wear them; 
Then come with me, and only see 

How easy His to spare them ! 

Load for'ard; neither goad, nor flog; 

For rest your beast is flagging: 
And do not let that willing dog 

Tear out his heart with dragging : 
Wait, wait awhile; those axles grease, 

And shift this buckle's fretting; 
And give that galling collar ease; — 

How grateful is he getting ! 

So poor yourselves, and short of joys. 

Unkindly used, unfairly, 
I sometimes wonder, men and boys. 

You're merciful so rarely: 
If you have felt how hunger gripes. 

Why famish and ill use 'em? 
If you've been weal'd by sores and stripes, 

How can you beat and bruise 'em? 

0, fear! lest GrOD has taught in vain. 

And so your hearts you harden; 
Oh, hope ! for lo ! He calls again. 

And now 's the time for pardon : 
Yes, haste to-day to put away 

Your cruelties and curses, — 
And man at least, if not his beast, 

Shall bless me for my verses. 



THE DOGS PETITION 



AGAINST " THE TRUCK SYSTEM." 

Have pity, Master, on me ! I scarce can drag the load, — 
I all but pull my heartstrings out upon this stony road ; 
Yet, with a cudgel and a curse my willing toil you pay, 
And leap upon the truck behind, to help me on my way ! 

Half-starved, and weal'd, and bruised, and gall'd, in every bone ) 

ache, 
And strain beneath the crushing load, as if my back would break, 
The while athirst I struggle on among these dusty ruts, 
And dread the mended places where the flint so sharply cuts ! 

Man, Master ! Nature's hand — (it is the hand of God !) 
For roads like this made stubborn hoofs, — my soft foot for the sod; 
Built the strong frame of beasts of draught to pull your cart or van, 
But gave me nobler sense and wish to be the friend of Man ! 

With faithful zeal to watch the flock or homestead night and day. 
To chase your game, or bravely hunt the prowling beasts of prey ; 
With joyous love to welcome you, with courage to defend; — 
Man, art thou " the friend of God ?" — then let me be thy friend. 



Yes, — learned lords and sporting men, who make or mar the laws, 
Why hesitate such ills to cure, — for is there not a cause ? 
The town is quit of dog-truck-scamps and cruelties like these, 
But in our lonely country lanes they torture as they please. 



80 thedog'spetition. 

No eye to see, no hand to help, — (but His, long-suffering still, 
"Who yet shall bless good's bruised heel, and crush the head of ill !) 
No pity in the cruel heart to stay the hand that flogs, — 
senators, consider well the case of country-dogs. 

And for your clients, dog-truck-men, — ask all the country through 
In every village, who is worst of all their roughest crew ? 
They'll tell you, one and all alike, as honestly they can, 
Our model rogue and thief and sot is — yonder dog-truck-man. 



"(KnglanFa Swrt!" 

A WORD OF COMFORT TO THE LOYAL. 

England's heart! never fear 

The sturdy good old stock; 
Nothing's false or hollow here, 

But solid as a rock: 
England's heart is sound enough, 

And safe in its old place. 
Honest, loyal, blithe, and bluff, 

And open as her face ! 

England's heart! With beating nerves 

It rallies for the throne, — 
And, with Luther, well preserves 

The knee for God alone ! 
England's heart is sound enough, 

Unshaken and serene, 
Like her oak-trees true and tough 

And old, — but glad and green ! 



"England's heart! '^ 81 

England's heart! x\ll Europe hurl'd 

To ruin, strife, and dearth, 
Sees yet one Zoar in the world, 

The Goshen *of the earth ! 
England's heart is sound enough, — 

And — though the skies be dark, 
Though winds be loud, and waves be rough — 

Safe, as Noah's ark ! 

England's heart, — Ay, G-od be praised, 

That thus, in patriot pride. 
An English cheer can yet be raised 

Above the stormy tide : 
Safe enough, and sound enough, 

It thrills the heart to feel 
A man 's a bit of English stuff, 

True from head to heel! 



3Jlt| (Dmu f krB, 

A RHYME FOR ALL GOOD MEN AND TRUE. 

Whoever I am, wherever my lot, 

Whatever I happen to be, 
Contentment and Duty shall hallow the spot 

That Providence orders for me; 
No covetous straining and striving to gain 

One feverish step in advance, — 
I know my own place, and you tempt me in vain 

To hazard a change and a chance ! 

I care for no riches that are not my right. 

No honour that is not my due; 
But stand in my station by day, or by night, 

The will of my Master to do; 



MY OWN PLACE. 

He lent me my lot, be it humble or high, 

And set me my business here; 
And whether I live in His service, or die, 

My heart shall be found in my sphere ! 

If wealthy, I stand as the steward of my King; 

If poor, as the friend of my Lord; 
If feeble, my prayers and my praises I bring; 

If stalwarth, my pen or my sword : 
If wisdom be mine, I will cherish His gift; 

If simpleness, bask in His love; 
If sorrow, His hope shall my spirit uplift; 

If joy, I will throne it above ! 

The good that it pleases my God to bestow, 

I gratefully gather and prize; 
The evil, — it can be no evil, I know, 

But only a good in disguise; 
And whether my station be lowly or great, 

No duty can ever be mean, 
The factory-cripple is fix'd in his fate 

As well as a King or a Queen ! 

For duty's bright livery glorifies all 

With brotherhood, equal and free, 
Obeying, as children, the heavenly call, 

That places us where we should be; 
A servant, — the badge of my servitude shines 

As a jewel invested by Heaven; 
A monarch, — remember that justice assigns 

Much service, where so much is given ! 

Away then with "helpings" that humble and harm 
Though "bettering'' trips from your tongue, 

Away! for your folly would scatter the charm 
That round my proud poverty hung: 



MY OWN PLACE. 

I felt that I stood like a man at my post, 
Though peril and hardship were there, — 

And all that your wisdom would counsel me most 
Is — " Leave it ; — do better elsewhere." 

If " better '^ were better indeed, and not "worse," 

I might go ahead with the rest; 
But many a gain and a joy is a curse, 

And many a grief for the best : 
No ! — duties are all the " advantage " I use ; 

I pine not for praise or for pelf; 
And as for ambition, I care not to choose 

My better or worse for myself! 

I will not, I dare not, I cannot ! — I stand 

Where God has ordain'd me to be. 
An honest mechanic — or lord in the land, — 

He fitted my calling for me : 
Whatever my state, be it weak, be it strong. 

With honour, or sweat, on my face. 
This, this is my glory, my strength, and my song, 

I stand, like a star, in my place. 



"a»Irat is a ^MV 

A RHYME FOR THE RHYMESTERS. 

No jingler of rhymes, and no mingler of phrases, 
No tuner of times, and no pruner of daisies, 
No lullaby lyrist, with nothing to say. 
No small sentimentalist, fainting away, 
No Ardert of albums, no trifling Tyrtaeus, 
No bilious misanthrope loathing to see us, 



84 "WHATISAPOET?" 

No gradus-and-prosody maker of verses, 

No Hector of tragedy vapouring curses, — 

In a word — though a long one — no mere poetaster 

The monkey that follows some troubadour master, 

And filching from Byron, or Shelley, or Keats, 

With cunning mosaic his coterie cheats 

Into voting the poor petty-larceny fool 

A charming disciple of Wordsworth's own school. 

Not a bit of it! — Pilferers, duncy and dreary, — 

Human society's utterly weary 

Of gilt insincerities, hopping in verse, 

And stately hexameters plumed like a hearse. 

And second-hand sentiment, sugar' d with ice. 

And a third course of passion, warm'd up very nice. 

And peaches of wax, and your sham wooden pine, 

The fitting dessert of a feast so divine! 

With musical lies and mechanical stufi" 

The verse-ridden world has been pester'd enough : 

But yet in its heart, if unsmother'd by words. 

It thrills and it throbs from its innermost chords 

To generous, truthful, melodious Sense, 

To beautiful language and feelings intense. 

To human affection sincerely pour'd out, 

To eloquence, — tagg'd with a rhyme, or without; 

To anything tasteful, and hearty, and true. 

Delicate, graceful, and noble, and new! 

Ay; find me the man — or the woman — or child. 
Though modest, yet bold; and though spirited, mild; 
With a mind that can think, and a heart that can feel, 
And the tongue and the pen that are skill'd to reveal, 
And the eye that hath wept, and the hand that will aid, 
And the brow that in peril was never afraid; 
With courage to dare, and with keenness to plan, 
And tact to declare what is pleasant to man 



ENVY. 85 

While guiding and teaching and training his mind, 
While spurring the lazy, and leading the blind; 
With pureness in youth, and religion in age, 
And cordial afFectio^ at every stage, — 
The harp of this woman, this man, or this youth. 
By genius well strung, and made tuneful by truth. 
Shall charm and shall ravish the world at its will, 
And make its old heart yet tremble and thrill. 
While all men shall own it and feel it and know it 
Gladly and gratefully, — Here is the Poet! 



A WORD TO THE FEW. 

Whiteltpp'd sneerer, well I wot 

How you loathe the great and wise,- 
How his brightness is a blot 

On your thunder-mantled skies; 
How his fame and good men^s love 

Make him hateful in your eyes, 
And when thus he soars above. 

How you ache to see him rise! 

O you seeming friend, found out, 

In detraction is your bliss,— 
Whispering petty blame about. 

With a subtle serpent's hiss: 
Lo, the great man scorns it all; 

Lo, the wise man makes it miss; 
Lo, the good man greets your gall 

With a kind forgiving kiss ! 



86 WELCOME. 

Brothers ! who have nobly earn'd 

Thanks and praise at least from man, 
If your good with scorn is spurn' d, 

And your blessing m^ by ban, 
Brothers ! heed we not their hate 

Who would harm but never can, — 
With the wise, the good, the great, 

Let us conquer in the van ! 



A WORD TO THE MANY. 

Yes ! welcome, right welcome — and give us your hand,- 

I like not to stand in the cold ! 
If new friends are true friends, I can't understand 

Why hearts should hold back till they're old: 
For life is so short, and there's so much to do. 

And so many pleasures and cares — 
And somewhere I've read that, though angels are few, 

They 're frequently met unawares ! 

The eye of sincerity shines like a star 

Through the clouds of suspicion and doubt; 
I love its fair lustre, and lure it from far, 

And wouldn't for worlds put it out : 
Away with such wisdom, as risking the chance 

Of killing young love with old fears — 
The face that is honest is known at a glance, 

And needn't be studied for years! 

And when petty Prudence would put me to s'chool 

About caution, and care, and all that, 
I trust that, like some folks, I yield to the rule 

Of wearing a head in my hat j 



WELCOME. 87 

But more that remains is better than brains, 

And I know not that some folks are blest 
Like me, with a share in a custom more rare, 

Of wearing a heart in the breast ! 

Then come with all welcome ! I fear not to fling 

Reserve to the winds and the waves, 
And never can cling to the cold-blooded thing 

Society makes of its slaves : 
Thou dignified dullard, so cloudy and cold. 

Get out of the sunshine for me; 
But, hearty good friend ! whether new one or old, 

A Welcome for Ever to thee ! 



A FEW CONSOLATORY STANZAS. 

Patience yet one little hour, 
Pale, unloved, uncourted flower, 

Seeing not the sun; 
Patience, — heart of depth and duty, 
Yearning for the smiles of beauty, 

Never catching one : 

•Patience, — martyr following faintly, 
Gentle nun, serene and saintly. 

Kneeling in the dust; 
Oh not vain thy long-enduring ! 
Still with meekest might securing 

Triumph to thy trust ! 



88 BALM. 

Hushing every mutter'd murmur, 
Tranquil Fortitude the firmer 

Girdeth thee with strength; 
While, no treason near her lurking, 
Patience, in her perfect working, 

Shall be Queen at length. 

And, behold ! thy pious daring 
Is a glorious crown preparing 

For thine own sweet brow; 
Precious pearls of softest lustre 
Shall with brightest jewels cluster 

Where the thorns are now ! 



Faith and Patience ! sister, brother, — 
Lean in love on one another. 

Calm for good or ill : 
Comforted by surely knowing 
That the Ruler is bestowing 

Strength in sitting still! 

ye virgin spirits wasting, 

O ye hearts of thousands, hasting 

Darkly to decay. 
Through the blight of disappointment,- 
Tenderly, with precious ointment. 

Lull those cares away. 

Tenderly, with wise beguilings. 
Court sweet Patience for her smilings 

On that ruin drear; 
Soon, with other sister graces. 
Shall she make your hearts and faces 

Laugh away their fear : 



BALM. 

Soft Contentment, bright-eyed Duty, 
Faith in his archangel beauty, 

Joy, and Love sublime, 
Follow, — Patience, where thy finger 
Gently beckons Hope to linger 

On the wrecks of time ! 



IHfisIjnBss. 



A BALLAD FOR THE WORLDLY. 

How little and how lightly 

We care for one another! 
How seldom and how slightly 

Consider each a brother! 
For all the world is every man 

To his own self alone, 
And all beside no better than 

A thing he does n't own. 

And O, the shame and sadness, 

To see how insincerely 
The heart, that in its gladness, 

Went forth to love men dearly. 
Is chiird, and all its warmth repelFd 

As just a low mistake, 
And half the cordial yearnings quelFd 

It felt for others' sake. 

The service it would render 
Is calFd intrusive boldness, 

And thus, that heart so tender, 
Now hardening to coldness, 
8* 



90 SELFISHNESS. 

Keturns, returns, — a blighted thing ! 
To scorn those early clays, 

The freshness of its green young spring- 
Its beauty and its praise. 



|Blf-|5nHBf0sinn» 



A BALLAD FOR A MAN S OWN INNER WORLD. 

Whirling, eddying, ebbing Present, 

Foamy tide of strife and noise, 
Mingled-bitter, mingled-pleasant. 

Loves and worries, cares and joys, — 
ye changing, chancing surges ! 

Calmly doth my Mind forecast 
How your restless spirit merges 

In the Future and the Past! 

Lo, I stand your master-pilot; 

Though the cataracts be near, 
Safe I swing round rock or islet, 

Strong, and still, and godlike Here ! 
Stout I stand, and sway the tiller 

Through these rapids glancing down, 
While the very flood flows stiller, 

Frozen by my monarch-frown ! 

O'er the rock-entangled shallows 
Staunch I steer, adown the stream; 

And the Past the Present hallows 
With its melancholy dream, — 



SELF-POSSESSION. 91 

And the Future, nearing surely 

Like Niagara's cliff ahead 
Steadily I reach, securely 

As a child that feels no dread ! 

Yea, though earth be torn asunder, — 

Or the secret heart be vext, — 
Though with elemental thunder 

Or by petty cares perplext, 
Still I stand, and rule the riot; 

Still my deep calm soul is blest 
With its own imperial quiet, 

The sublimity of Rest! 

For, a staunch and stalwart true man, 

Fearing God, and none beside, — 
Nothing more, nor less, than human. 

Nothing human can betide 
That may disenthrone a spirit 

Doomed to reign in Time's decay, 
Grandly fated to inherit 

Endless peace in endless Day! 



A BALLAD OF COMFORT. 

Never you fear; but go ahead 

In self-relying strength : 
"What matters it, that malice said, 

" We 've found it out at length ! " 
Found out? found what? — An honest man 

Is open as the light, 
So, search as keenly as you can, 

You'll only find — all right. 



92 SLANDER. 

Yes, blot him black with slander's ink, 

He stands as white as snow I 
You serve him better than you think, 

And kinder than you know : 
What ? is it not some credit, then, 

That he provokes your blame? 
This merely, with all better men, 

Is quite a kind of fame ! 

Through good report, and ill report, 

The good man goes his way, 
Nor condescends to pay His court 

To what the vile may say: — 
Ay, be the scandal what you will 

And whisper what you please, 
You do but fan his glory still 

By whistling up a breeze. 

The little spark becomes a flame 

If you won't hold your tongue; 
Nobody pays you for your blame, 

Nor* cares to prove it wrong ; 
But if you will so kindly aid 

And prop a good man's peace, 
Why, really one is half afraid 

Your ill report should cease ! 

Look you ! two children playing there 

With battledores in hand 
To keep the shuttle in the air 

Must strike it as they stand; 
It flags and falls, if both should stop. 

To look admiring on, — 
And so Fame's shuttlecock would drop 

Without a Pro and Con! 



SONN ET. 

Lo! ye shall take up serpents without fear, 

And walk on scorpions, scatheless of their sting, 
And, if ye drink of any deadly thing, 

It shall not hurt you ! What a power is here ! 
A sevenfold buckler to our calm strong hearts 
Against the feeble, blunted, broken darts 

Of Hate's fierce frown, or Envy's subtle sneer. 

Christian, go straight on, — though Slander rear 
(To freeze thy warmth) her cold Medusa head; 

Go on in faith and love, at duty^s call : 
With naked feet on adders shalt thou tread, 

Meet perils only to surmount them all. 
And, out of bad men's blame, as good men's praise, 
Build up God's blessing on thy words and ways ! 



A BALLAD OF WISDOAf. 
"Giye me neither poverty nor riches." 

Pageants rare of splendid waste 
Hurried on with glittering haste; 
Honours high, and fashions gay, — 
Teasing pomp by night and day; 
Luxuries that never cease 
Rich in every zest but — peace; 
Flattering homage, sickly sweet. 
Pleasures — pleasures? false and fleet,— 
Who shall swear that rank and wealth 
Have one bliss except by stealth. 
When the great, the rich, the proud 
Stoop to imitate the crowd? 



94 THE GOLDEN MEAN. 

Aching toil, or starving rest; 
Disappointment's bleeding breast; 
Hopes of better, never here; 
Luck a laggard in the rear; 
Cellar, children, curses, cries, 
Furious crime, or fawning lies, — 
Food? the foulest, scantlj dealt; 
Pain ? ay, pain, for ever felt ; 
Who, with Francis, who can praise, 
Poverty, thy works and ways, 
Till they rise above despair, 
Till content hath smother'd care? 

Grive me. Blessed Father! give 
Just enough in love to live; 
Give me what is truly good — 
Grrace, and food, and gratitude; 
Kindly give me patience, health, 
Anything but wasteful Wealth; 
Wisely in Thy mercy grant 
Anything but wasting Want; 
That I may not through excess 
Sin from want or wantonness, — 
That I may be clear and clean, 
Lucid in the Golden Mean. 



A BALLAD FOR THE AGED. 

Light as flakes of falling snow 

Drop the silent-footed hours; 
And the days, — they come and go. 
And the years — we scarcely know 

How their frosts, and fruits, and flowers, 



TIME. 95 



Transient crops of weal and woe, 

Change, and pass, and perish so ! 

While we muse upon To-day 

Lo ! the dream has died away ; 

And there lives what was To-morrow, 

With its present joy or sorrow, 

Pains and pleasures, fear and hope, 

A variable kaleidoscope : 

So on, so on; till years have sped 

By tens and twenties over head. 

And those flakes that fell unfelt 

Have grown to snows — that never melt 



A LOYAL Ballad, April, 1848. 

How glorious is thy calling. 

My happy Fatherland, 
While all the thrones are falling 

In righteousness to stand, 
Amid the earthquakes heaving thus 

To rest in pastures green, — 
Then, GrOD be praised who helpeth us. 

And — God preserve the Queen ! 

How glorious is thy calling! 

In sun and moon and stars 
To see the signs appalling 

Of prodigies and wars, — 
Yet by thy grand example still 

From lies the world to wean, 
Then, God be praised who guards from ill, 

And — God preserve the Queen ! 



96 "GOD PRESERVE THE QUEEN!" 

Within thy sacred border 

Amid the sounding seas, 
Religion, Right, and Order 

Securely dwell at ease; 
And if we lift this beacon bright. 

Among the nations seen, 
We bless the Lord who loves the right, 

And — God preserve the Queen ! 

Fair pastures and still waters 

Are ours withal to bless 
The thronging sons and daughters 

Of exile and distress; 
For who so free, as English hearts 

Are, shall be, and have been? 
Then, GrOD be thank'd on our parts, 

And — God preserve the Queen! 

Though strife and fear and madness 

Are raging all around. 
There still is peace and gladness 

On Britain's holy ground; 
But not to us the praise, — to us 

Our glor}'- is to lean 
On Him who giveth freely thus. 

And — God preserve the Queen ! 

nation greatly favour' d, 

If ever thou shouldst bring 
A sacrifice well savour'd 

Of praise to God the King, 
Now, now, let all thy children raise 

In faith and love serene, 
The loyal patriot hymn of praise 

Of — God preserve the Queen! 



A BALLAD FOR THE PRINCE ALFRED. 97 

a UulW fnr tljB friTO aiM; 

On his Birthday, August 6, 1849. 

A THOUSAND years ago, 

A mighty spirit came 
To eai'H himself through weal and woe 

An everlasting name ! 

The G-reat, the "Wise, the Grood, 

Was Alfred in his time, 
And then before his G-od he stood 

An heir of bliss sublime ! 

And many changes since 

And wondrous things have been, 
Till in another English prince. 

Again is Alfred seen. 

Though never call'd to rule. 

Nor ever forced to fight. 
May he grow up in Alfred's school 

A child of love and light: 

In Learning and in Grace 
• Exceeding great and wise. 
With goodness run his happy race, 
And reign beyond the skies ! 



98 A NATIONAL ANTHEM FOR LIBERIA IN AFRICA. 



a MMimul autljm fnr litoria to afrim. 

Praise ye the Lord ! for this new-born Star, 
On the blue firmament blazing afar, 
Bless ye the Lord ! — our souls to cheer 
"The love of liberty brought us here!" 

Hail to Liberia's beacon bright, 
Luring us home with its silver light. 
Where we may sing without peril or fear 
" The love of liberty brought us here ! " 

Hail! new home on the dear old shore 
Where Ham's dark sons dwelt ever of yore, 
Thou shalt be unto us doubly dear. 
For "love of liberty brought us here!" 

Come, ye children of Africa, come. 
Bring hither the viol, the pipe, and the drum, 
To herald this Star on its bright career. 
For "love of liberty brought us here !" 

Come, — with peace and to all good-will j 

Yet ready to combat for insult or ill, — 

Come, with the trumpet, the sword, and the spear, 

For "love of liberty brought us here!" 

Thanks unto GrOD ! who hath broken the chain 
That bound us as slaves on the Western main; 
Thanks, white brothers ! Oh, thanks sincere. 
Whose "love of liberty brought us here!" 



A NATIONAL ANTHEM FOR LIBERIA IN AFRICA. 99 

Yes, — ye have rescued us as from the grave, 
And a freeman made of the desperate slave, 
That ye may call him both brother and peer, 
For " love of liberty brought us here !" 

Thanks ! raise that shout once more, — 
Thanks ! let it thrill Liberia's shore, — 
Thanks ! while we our standard rear, 
"The love of liberty brought us here!" 

Thine, Columbia, thine was the hand 
That set us again on our own dear land, 
We will remember thee far or near. 
For "love of liberty brought us here!" 

Yes, Liberia ! freemen gave 
Freedom and Thee to the ransomed slave; 
Then out with a shout both loud and clear, 
"Love of liberty brought us here!" 



€llB tikxim %mm. 

A THOUSAND miles of rugged shore, 

And not a lighthouse seen ? 
Alas, the thousand years of yore 

That such a shame hath been ! 
Alas, that Afric's darkling race, 

The savages and slaves. 
Never have known the gleam of grace 

On their Atlantic waves! 



100 THE LIBERIAN BEACON. 

Never — till Now! glorious liglit, 

The beacon is ablaze ! 
And half the terrors of the night 

Are scattered by its rays ! 
Forth from the starry heaven'd West 

Was lit this glowing torch, 
For, dear Columbia's sons have blest 

Liberia with — a Church ! 



Yes, — young Columbia leads the way. 

And shows our hard old world 
How slavery in the sight of day 

Can wisest be downhurl'd; 
Not by the bloody hand of power 

That mangles while it frees. 
But by Religion's calmer hour, 

And Freedom of the seas ! 

Yes, brothers! Patience is the word, — 

And Prudence in your zeal: 
Where these sweet angels well are heard 

They work the common weal : 
The North must wait; the South he wise 

And both unite in love 
To help the slave beneath the skies 

Who is no slave above ! 



THE LIBERIAN CHURCH. 101 



A SONNET. 

Not freedom only be Liberia's boast, — 

Nor chiefly, Africa, thy sons return' d 
To those dear palmy plains and tropic coast 

For which so long in alien climes they yearned 
No ! — but a blessing, to be sought the most 

Wherever men for truest treasure search. 
Shall be thy praise, Liberia! — lo, at length. 

As in St. Cyprian's day, a Christian Church 
With its Apostle stands in holy strength, 

A newlit beacon on poor Afric's shore; 
And round it now the darkling heathen throng, 

And Ethiopia's outstretch'd hands implore 
Of thee, Salvation's hallow'd gospel song, 

Of thee, Liberia, blest for evermore. 



God ! the Good, the Gracious, and the Just, 
Consider Thou, and hear Thy people's prayer; 

In thee alone Thy trembling creatures trust. 
And leave their sorrows to a Father's care. 

Through Christ who died, we live again to Thee; 

Through Christ who lives, we come before Thy throne; 
Though all beside in us corruption be, 

The good He gives we gladly claim and own. 
9* 



102 A NATIONAL PRAYER AGAINST THE CHOLERA. 

Now, for His sake, (Thy gift to us, our God,) 

In mercy look on us, in mercy save; 
Take, take away this sharp and chast'ning rod, 

And leave us humbly to the good it gave. 

We would be kind to Thine own flock, the poor; 

We would be wise, and temperate, and clean; 
By alms be peaceful, and by prayer secure, 

Trust to Thy help, and on Thy promise lean. 

Grateful, courageous, penitent, and kind, 

O thus let us Thy holy lesson learn; 
Win through the body mercies on the mind, 

And from this baneful plague Thy blessings earn. 

Yea, Father, let thy wrath be overpast. 

Now bid the sunshine of Thy love appear; 
Sweep from the laud that pestilential blast. 

And haste to save us from the foe we fear! j 

Who, who shall combat his mysterious might? 

Who, but the " stronger than the strong man armed ? " — 
Help the poor captives in that hideous flight. 

And be their terror by Thy mercy charm'd! 

Heal thou the sick; deliver Thou the whole; 

Bid the fierce Angel spare, and not destroy; 
With Thy salvation greet each parting soul, 

And turn our sorrows into songs of joy. 



C O U K A CJ E . 103 



A BALLAD FOR TROUBLOUS TIMES. 

Dangers do but dare me, 
Terrors cannot scare me, 
God my guide, I'll bear me 

Manfully for ever, — 
Trouble's darkest hour 
Shall not make me cower 
To the Spectre's power, — 

Never, never, never ! 

Up, my heart, and brace thee, 
While the perils face thee. 
In thyself encase thee 

Manfully for ever, — 
Foes may howl around me, 
Fears may hunt and hound me,— 
Shall their yells confound me? 

Never, never, never ! 

Constant, calm, unfearing. 

Boldly persevering. 

In good conscience steering 

Manfully for ever, — 
Winds and waves defying, 
And on God relying. 
Shall He find me flying? 

Never, never. Never! 



104 



A H Y 31 N AND A C H A N T . 

For the Harvest-home of 1847 

A HYMN. 

NATION, Christian nation, 

Lift high the hymn of praise ! 
The God of our salvation 

Is love in all his ways; 
He blesseth us, and feedeth 

Every creature of His hand, 
To succour him that needeth 

And to gladden all the land ! 

Rejoice, ye happy people. 

And peal the changing chime 
From every belfried steeple 

In symphony sublime; 
Let cottage and let palace 

Be thankful and rejoice. 
And woods, and hills, and valleys, 

Ee-echo the glad voice ! 

From glen, and plain, and city 

Let gracious incense rise, 
The Lord of life in pity 

Hath heard his creatures' cries; 
And where in fierce oppressing 

Stalk'd fever, fear, and dearth, 
He pours a triple blessing 

To fill and fatten earth! 



A H Y M N A N D A C H A N T . 105 

Gaze round in deep emotion : 

The rich and ripen'd grain 
Is like a golden ocean 

Becalm'd upon the plain; 
And we, who late were weepers 

Lest judgment should destroy, 
Now sing because the reapers 

Are come again with joy ! 

praise the hand that giveth 

— And giveth evermore, — 
To every soul that liveth 

Abundance flowing o'er ! 
For every soul He filleth 

With manna from above, 
And over all distilleth 

The unction of His love. 

Then gather, Christians, gather 

To praise with heart and voice 
The good Almighty Father, 

Who biddeth you rejoice : 
For He hath turn'd the sadness 

Of His children into mirth. 
And we will sing with gladness 

The harvest-home of earth! 



A CHANT. 

BLESS the God of harvest, praise Him through the land, 
Thank Him for His precious gifts. His help, and liberal love : 
Praise Him for the fields, that have render' d up their riches, 
And, dress'd in sunny stubbles, take their sabbath after toil; 
Praise Him for the close-shorn plains, and uplands lying bare, 



196 THE BATTLE OF ROLEIA. 

Brave Ferguson led on tlie left, 

And Trant the flanking right, 
With iron Arthur in the midst, 

The focus of the fight ; 
And fast by Wellesley's gallant side 

The Craufurd rode amain, 
And Hill, the British soldier's pride, 

And Nightingale, and Fane. 

Crouching like a tiger. 

In his high and rocky lair. 
The Frenchman howl'd and show'd his teeth, 

And — wished he wasn't there j 
For Craufurd, Hill, and Nightingale 

Flew at him as he lay, 
And up our gallant fellows sprang 

As bloodhounds on the prey. 

And look ! we hunt the bold Laborde 

To Zambugeira's height, — 
While Trant with Fane and Ferguson 

Outflank him left and right; 
And then with cheers we charge the front, 

With cheers the foe reply, — 
No child's play was that battle brunt, 

We swore to win or die ! 

Battled loud the musket's roar, — 

We struggled man to man, — 
The rugged rocks were wash'd in gore. 

With gore the gullies ran ! 
Fiercely through those mountain paths 

Our bloody way we force, — 
And find in strength upon the heights 

The Frenchman, foot and horse : 



THE BATTLE OF ROLEIA. 197 

Ab, then, my Ninth, and Twenty-ninth, 

Your courage was too hot, 
For down on your disorder' d ranks 

Secure they pour the shot; 
But all their horse and foot and guns 

Could never make you fly, — 
The losing Frenchman fights and runs, 

But Britons fight — and die ! 

Up to the rescue, Ferguson! 

And keep the hard-fought hill; 
Their chiefs are pick'd oflf, one by one, 

And lo, they rally still; 
They rally, and rush stoutly on, — 

The bold Laborde gives way, — 
The day is lost ! the day is won ! 

And GUI'S is the day ! 

Then well retreating sage and slow 

Alternately in mass 
With charging horse, the wily foe 

Gains Buna's rocky pass; 
And left us thus Boleia's field, 

With other fields in store, 
Vimiera, Torres Yedi-as, 

And half a hundred more ! 



How many years are fled, — 
How many friends are dead: 
Alas, how fast 
The past hath past, — 
How speedily life hath sped! 
17* 



198 RETROSPECT. 

Places, that knew me of yore, 

Know me for theirs no more; 

And sore at the change 

Quite strange I range 

Where I was at home before. 

Thoughts and things each day 
Seem to be fading awayj 
Yet this is, I wot, 
Their lot to be not 
Continuing in one stay. tay. 

A mingled mesh it seems 
Of facts and fancy's gleams; 
I scarce have power 
From hour to hour 
To separate things from dreams. 

Darkly, as in a glass, 
Like a vain shadow they pass; 
Their ways they wend 
And tend to an end, 
The goal of life, alas ! 

Alas? and wherefore so, — 
Be glad for this passing show; 
The world and its lust 
Back must to their dust 
Before the soul can grow. 

Expand, my willing mind. 
Thy nobler life to find. 
Thy childhood leave 
Nor grieve to bereave 
Thine age of toys behind. 



PEACE AND QUIETNESS. 199 



^km niii diuiBinrsH. 



Peace is the precious atmosphere I breathe; 

And my calm mind goes to her dewy bower, 
A trellis rare of fragrant thoughts to wreathe, 

Mingling the scents and tints of every flower: 
For pity, vex her not; those inner joys 

That bless her in this consecrated hour, 
Start and away, like plovers, at a noise, 
Sensitive, timorous : — do not scare 

My happy fancies, lest the flock take wing. 
Fly to the wilderness and perish there! 

For I have secret luxuries, that bring 
Grladness and brightness to mine eyes and heart, 

Memory, and Hope, and keen Imagining, 
Sweet thoughts and peaceful, never to depart. 



Then give me Silence; for my spirit is rare, 
Of delicate edge and tender: when I think, 

I rear aloft a mental fabric fair ; 

But soon as words come hurtling on the air, 
Down to this dust my ruined fancies sink : 
Look you! on yonder Alp's precipitous brink 

An avalanche is tottering ; — one breath 
Loosens an icy chain ; — it falls, — it falls. 

Filling the buried glens and glades with death ! 

Or as, when on the mountain's granite walls 
The hunter spies a chamois, — hush ! be calm, 

A word will scare it, — even so, my Mind 
Creative, energizing, seeks the balm 

Of Quiet: Solitude and Peace combined. 



200 THE EARLY CiALLOP 



(Wriite7i in the saddle, on the crown of my hat.) 

At five on a dewy morning, 

Before the blazing day, 
To be up and oif on a high-mettled horse 

Over the hills away, — 
To drink the rich sweet breath of the gorse 

And bathe in the breeze of the Downs, 
Ha ! man, if you can, match bliss like this 

In all the joys of towns I 

With glad and grateful tongue to join 

The lark at his matin hymn, 
And thence on faith's own wing to spring 

And sing with cherubim ! 
To pray from a deep and tender heart, 

With all things praying anew. 
The birds and the bees, and the whispering trees, 

And heather bedropt with dew, — 
To be one with those early worshippers 

And pour the carol too ! 



Then, off again with a slackened rein. 

And a bounding heart within. 
To dash at a gallop over the plain, 

Health's golden cup to win ! 
This, this is the race for gain and grace 

Richer than vases and crowns; 
And you that boast your pleasures the most 

Amid the steam of towns. 
Come, taste true bliss in a morning like this, 

Galloping over the Downs ! 



ASCOT. 201 

iHrnt : 

June 3, 1847 — t7hex Hero won. 

Modern Olympia! shorn of all their pride — 

The patriot spirit, and unlucred praise — 

Thou art a type of these degenerate days, 
When love of simple honour all hath died; 
Oh dusty, gay, and eager multitude. 

Agape for gold — No ! do not thus condemn ; 
For hundreds here are innocent and good, 

And young, and fair, among — but not of — them; 
And hundreds more enjoy with gratitude 

This well-earn'd holiday, so bright and green: 

Do not condemn ! it is a stirring scene, 
Though vanity and folly -fill it up; 

Look how the mettled racers please the Queen ! 
Ha! brave John Day — a Hero wins the cup! 



lift. 

A BUSY dream, forgotten ere it fades, 

A vapour, melting into air away. 
Vain hopes, vain fears, a mesh of lights and shades, 

A chequer' d labyrinth of night and day, 
This is our life; a rapid surgy flood 

Where each wave hunts its fellow; on they press; 
To-day is yesterday, and hope's young bud 

Has fruited a to-morrow's nothingness: 
Still on they press, and we are borne along. 

Forgetting and forgotten, trampling down 
The living and the dead in that fierce throng. 

With little heed of Heaven's smile or frown, 
And little care for others' right or wrong. 
So we in iron selfishness stand strong. 



202 WATERLOO. 



A BALLAD FOR THE SOLDIER. 

Thermopylae and Cannae 

Were glorious fields of yore, 
Leonidas and Hannibal 

Eight famous evermore; 
But we can claim a nobler name, 

A field more glorious too, 
The chief who thus achieved for us 

Victorious Waterloo. 

Let others boast of C^Bsar's host 

Led on by Ca3sar's skill, 
And how fierce Attila could rout, 

And Alaric could kill, — 
But we — right well, hear me tell 

What British troops can do. 
When marshall'd by a Wellington 

To win a Waterloo! 

for a Pindar's harp to tune 

The triumphs of that day ! 
for a Homer's pictured words 

To paint the fearful fray ! — 
Alas, my tongue and harp ill-strung 

In feeble tones and few, 
Hath little skill — yet right good-will 

To sing of Waterloo. 

Then gather round, my comrades, 

And hear a soldier tell 
How full of honour was the day 

When — every man did well ! 



WATERLOO. 203 

And though a soldier's speech be rough, 

His heart is hot and true 
While thus he tells of Wellington 

At hard-fought Waterloo. 

Sublimely caluij our iron Duke, 

A lion in his lair, 
Waited and watch'd with sleepless eye 

To see what France would dare, 
Nor deign 'd to stir from Brussels 

Until he surely knew 
The foe was rushing on his fate 

At chosen Waterloo. 

What? should the hunter waste his strength 

Nor hold his good hounds back 
Before he knows they near the foes 

And open on the track? 
No: let ^'surprise" blight Frenchmen's eyes. 

For truly they shall rue 
The giant skill that, stern and still, 
. Drew them to Waterloo. 

Hotly the couriers gallop up 

To Richmond's festive scene, — 
Alone, alone the chieftain stood 

Undaunted and serene : 
Beady, ready, — staunch and steady, — 

And forth the orders flew 
That march'd us off to Quatre Bras, 

And whelming Waterloo. 

Begin, begin with Quatre Bras, 

That twinborn field of flame. 
Where many a gallant deed was done 

By many a gallant name; 



204 WATERLOO. 

That battle-field; which seem'd to yield 

An earnest and review 
Of all that British courage dared 

And did at Waterloo. 

We heard from far old Blucher's guns. 

At Ligny's blazing street, 
And hurried on to Weimar's aid, 

Right glad the foe to meet; 
A score of miles to Quatre Bras; 

But still to arms we stood 
And cheerly rush'd without a pause 

To win the Boissy wood: 

Then, just like cowards, three to one, 

Before we could deploy, 
To crush us, Ney and Excelmans 

Flew down with fiendish joy; 
But stout we stood in hollow squares, 

And fought, and kept the ground. 
While lancer spears and cuirassiers 

Were charging us all round! 

Ay, ay, my men, we battled then 

Like wolves and bears at bay. 
And thousands there among the dead 

With sable Brunswick lay : 
And back to back in that attack 

The ninety-second fought, — 
And " steadily '' the twenty-eighth 

Behaved as Britons ought. 

Then up came Maitland with the guards, 
Hurrah ! they clear the wood ; 

But still the furious Frenchman charged. 
And still we stoutly stood. 



WATERLOO. 205 

Till gentle night drew on, and that 

Drew off the treacherous Ney, 
For when the morning dimly broke 

— The fox had stole away ! 

Thus much, my lads, for Quatre Bras; 

And now for Waterloo, 
Where skill and courage did it all, 

With God's good help in view ! 
For we were beardless raw recruits. 

And they, more numerous far^ 
Were fierce mustachioed mighty men, 

The veterans of war. 

The GrOD of battles help'd us soon, 

As godless France drew nigh, 
— It was the great eighteenth of June, 

The sun was getting high; — 
And suddenly two hundred guns 

At once with thundering throats 
PeaFd out their dreadful overture 

In deep volcano notes. 

Then, by ten thousands, horse and foot. 

Came on the foaming Gaul, 
And still with bristling front we stood 

As solid as a wall : 
And stout Macdonnell's Hougoumont, 

The centre of the van. 
Was storm'd and storm'd and storm'd — in vain, 
• — He held it like a man ! 

who can count the myriad deeds 

That hundreds did in fight? 
Ponsonby falls, and Pictou bleeds, 

And — both are quench'd in night: 
18 



206 WATERLOO. 

And many a hero subaltern 

And hero private too 
Beat Ajax and Achilles both 

In winning Waterloo! 

What shall I say on that dread day 

Of Ferrier and his band? 
Ten times he chased the foes away, 

And charged them sword in hand; 
Six of those ten he led his men 

With blood upon his brow, — 
And in the eleventh dropp'd and died 

To live in glory now I 

Or, give a stave to Shaw the brave, 

— In death the hero sleeps, — 
Hemm'd by a score, he knocked them o'er, 

And Eew'd them down in heaps; 
Till, wearied out, the lion stout 

Beset as by a pack 
Of hungry hounds, fell full of wounds, 

But none upon his back! 

And Halkett then before his men 

Dash'd forward and made prize 
(While both the lines for wonderment 

Could scarce believe their eyes) 
Of a gaily-plumed French general 

Haranguing his array. 
But Halkett caught him, speech and all, 

And bore him right away! 

Thee too. Be Lancey, generous chief, 
For thee a niche be found, — 

Wounded to death, he scorn'd relief 
Whilst others bled around: 



WATERLOO. 207 

And D'Oyley and Fitzgerald died, 

Just as the day was won, — 
And Gordon by his general's side — 

The side of Wellington ! 

^d Somerset and Uxbridge then 

Gave each % limb to death ; 
Curzon and Canning cheer'd their men 

With their last dying breath; 
'And gallant Miller stricken sore 

With fainting utterance cries, 
" Bring me my colours ! wave them o'er 

Your colonel till he dies ! " 

Then furious wax'd the Emperor 

That Britons wouldn't run, 
"Les betes, pourquoi ne fuient-ils pas? 

Et done, ce Vellington?'' 
But Vellington still holds his own 

For eight red hours and more, 
"Why comes not Marshal Blucher down?"' 

— Ha! — there's his cannon's roar, — 

" Up, guards', and at them ! charge ! " — the word 

Like forked lightning passes. 
And lance, and bayonet, and sword 

Rush on in glittering masses ! 
Back, back, the surging columns roll 

In terrified dismay, 
And onward shout against the rout 
* The conquerors of the day! 



now, the tide of battle 
Is turn'd to seas of blood. 

When case and grape-shot rattle 
Among the multitude, 



208 WATERLOO. 

And Fates, led on by Furies, 

Destroy the flying host, 
And Chaos mated with Despair 

Makes all the lost most lost! 

Woe, woe ! thou caitiff-hero. 

Thou Emperor — and slave, * 

Why didst not thou, too, nobly bleed 

With those devoted brave? 
No, no, — the coward's thought was self, 

And " Suave qui pent" his cry, 
And verily at Waterloo 

Did great Napoleon die ! 

He died to fame, while yet his name 

Was on ten thousand tongues 
That trusted him, and pray'd to him 

And — cursed him for their wrongs! 
O noble souls ! Imperial Guard, 

Had your chief been but true, 
Ye would have stood and stopp'd the rout 

At crushing Waterloo ! 

Still as they fled from Wellington 

To Blucher's arms they flew; 
These two made up the Quatre Bras 

To clutch a Waterloo! 
Ha! Blucher's Prussian vengeance 

Was fully sated then. 
When hated France upon the field 

Left forty thousand men. 

Thus, comrades, hath a soldier told 
What Wellington's calm skill, 

When help'd by troops of British mould 
And God's almighty will, 



•"are you a great reader?" 209 

Against a veteran triple force 

On battle-field can do : — 
Then, three times three for Wellington, 

The Prince of \Yaterloo ! 



'' ItB tjnii n grrnt fxuhx V 

I HOPE to ripen into richer wine 

Than niixt Falernian; those decanter'd streams 
Pour'd from another's chalice into thine 

Make less of wisdom than the scholar dreams; 
Precept on precept, tedious line on line, 

That never-thinking, ever-reading plan. 

Fashion some patchwork garments for a man. 
But starve his mind: it starves of too much meat, 

An undigested surfeit; as for me, 
I am untamed, a spirit free and fleet 

That cannot brook the studious yoke, nor be 
Like some dull grazing ox without a soul. 

But feeling racer's shoes upon my feet 
Before my teacher starts, I touch the goal. 



I LEAVE all judgments to that better world 

And my more righteous Judge : for He shall tell 

In the dread day when from their thrones are hurl'd 
Each human tyranny and earthly spell. 
That which alone of all He knoweth well — 
18* 



210 THEVERDICT. • 

The heart's own secret : He shall tell it out 
With all the feelings and the sorrows there, 

The fears within, the foes that hemm'd without, 
Neglect and wrong and calumny and care: 
For He hath saved thine ev'ry tearful pray'r 

In His own lachrymal; and noted down 

Each unconsider'd grief with tenderest love : 

Look up ! beyond the cross behold the crown, 
And for all wrongs below all rights above ! 



Guernsey ! to me and in my partial eyes 
Thou art a holy and enchanted isle, 
Where I would linger long, and muse the while 
Of ancient thoughts and solemn memories. 
Quickening the tender tear or pensive smile : 

Guernsey ! — for nearly thrice a hundred years 

Home of my fathers ! refuge from their fears. 
And haven to their hope, — when long of yore 

Fleeing Imperial Charles and bloody Rome, 
Protestant martyrs, to thy sea-girt shore 

They came to seek a temple and a home. 

And found thee generous, — I their son would pour 

My heartfull all of praise and thanks to thee. 

Island of welcomes, — friendly, frank, and free ! 



A L L ' S R I G H T . 211 



ail's lUgiit. 

FOR MUSIC. 

NEVER despair at the troubles of life, 

All's right ! 
In the midst of anxiety, peril, and strife, 

All's right! 
The cheerful philosophy never was wrong 
That ever puts this on the tip of my tongue, 
And makes it my glory, my strength, and my song. 

Airs right! 

The Pilot beside us is steering us still. 

All's right! 
The Champion above us is guarding from ill. 

All's right! 
Let others who know neither Father nor Friend 
Go trembling and doubting in fear to the end, — 
For me, on this motto I gladly depend. 

All's right ! 



€liB (Cnniplaiiit nf nii %ntmt fmtnu, 

DISINTERRED BY ARCH^OLOGISTS. 

Two thousand years agone 
They heap'd my battle-grave. 

And each a tear and each a stone 
My mourning wamors gave; 



212 THE COMPLAINT OF AN ANCIENT BRITON. 

For I had borne me well, 

And fought as patriots fight, 
Till, like a British chief, I fell 

Contending for the right. 
Seam'd with many a wound, 

All weakly did I lie; 
My foes were dead or dying round, — 

And thus I joy'd to die I 
For their marauding crew 

Came treacherously to kill, — 
The many came against the few 

To storm our sacred hill. 
^ We battled, and we bled. 

We won, and paid the price, 
For I, the chief, lay down with the dead 

A willing sacrifice ! 
My liegemen wail'd me long. 

And treasured up my bones. 
And rear'd my kist secure and strong 

With tributary stones: 
High on the breezy down. 

My native hill's own breast. 
Nigh to the din of mine ancient town. 

They left me to my rest. 
I hoped for peace and calm 

Until my judgment hour, 
^ And then to awake for the victor's palm 

And patriot's throne of power! 
And lo ! till this dark day 

Did men my grave revere; 
Two thousand years had posted away, 

And still I slumber'd here : 
But now, there broke a noise 

Upon my silent home, 
'Twas not the Besurrection voice 

That burst my turfy tomb, — 



COMPLAINT OF AN ANCIENT BRITON. 213 

But men of prying mind, 

Alas, my fellow men, 
^Ravage my grave, my bones to find, 

With sacrilegious ken ! 
.Mine honour doth abjure 

Your new barbarian race; 
Restore, restore my bones secure 

To some more sacred place ! 
With matteck and with spade 

Ye dare to break my rest; 
The pious mound is all unmade 

My clan had counted blest: 
Take, take my buckler's boss, 

My sword, and spear, and chain, — 
Steal all ye can of this world's dross, 

But — rest my bones again ! 
I know your modern boast 

Is light, and learning's spread, — 
Learn of a Celt to show them most 

In honour to the Dead ! 



It is the way we go, the way of life; 

A drop of pleasure in a sea of pain, 
A grain of peace amid a load of strife, 

With toil and grief, and grief and toil agam : 
Yea: — but for this; the firm and faithful breast, 

Bolder than lions, confident and strong, 
That never doubts its birthright to be blest. 

And dreads no evil while it does no wrong : 



214 WISDOM. 

This, this is wisdom, manful and serene, 

Towards God all penitence and prayer and trust, 

But to the troubles of this shifting scene 
Simply courageous and sublimely just: 

Be .then such wisdom thine, my heart within, — 
There 4s no foe nor woe nor grief but — Sin. 



Cjir Imxl'B IDnsiinni, 



FOR MUSIC. 



Go, leave me to weep for the years that are past, 

For my youth, and its friends, and its pleasures all dead, 
My spring and my summer are fading too fast, 

And I long to live over the days that are fled; 
It is not for sorrows or sins on my track 

That I mournfully cast my fond yearnings behind, — 
— Ah no, — from aifection I love to look back, 

It is only my Heart that has wedded my Mind. 

And still, let the Mind that has married a Heart, 

Though loving, be strong as a King in his pride. 
And ever command that all weakness depart 

From the realm that he rules in the soul of his bride; 
For what, if all time and all pleasures decay? * 

My Mind is myself, an invincible chief, — 
Like a child's broken toys are the years past away, 

And my Heart half-ashamed has forgotten her grief. 



PROPHETS. 216 

Prophets at home, — I smile to note ycur wrongs; 

How scantly praised at each ancestral hearth 
Are ye, caress'd by million hearts and tongues, 

And full of honours over half the earth: 
O petty jealousies and paltry strife! 

The little minds that chronicle a birth 
Stood once for teachers in tl^e task of life; 

But, as the child of genius grew apace, 
Dismay'd at his gigantic lineaments, 

They fear'd to find his glory their disgrace, 
His mind their master: so their worldly aim 
Is still to vex him with discouragements, 
To check the spring-tide budding of his fame, 
And keep it 'down, to save themselves a name. 



JBljriit-rnrE mi. (Cljai 



My little learnin^fadcth fast away. 

And all the host of words and forms and rules 
Bred in my teeming youth of books and schools 
Dwindle to less and lighter; night and day « 

I dream of tasks undone, and lore forgot. 

Seeming some sailor in the "ship of fools," 
Some debtor owing what he cannot pay, 
Some Conner of old themes remember'd not: 
Despise such small oblivion; ^tis the lot 

Of human life, amid its chance and change. 
To learn, and then unlearn ; to seek and find 

And then to lose familiars grown quite strange : 
Store up, store wisdom's corn in heart and mind, 
But fling the chaff on every winnowing wind. 



216 THE TRUE EPICURE. 



How saidst thou ? — Pleasure : why, my life is pleasure ; 
My days are pleasantness, my nights are peace : 
I drink of joys which neither cloy nor cease, 

A well that gushes blessings without measure. 
Ah, thou hast little heed how rich and glad, 

How happy is my soul in her full treasure, 
How seldom but for honest pity sad, 
How constantly at calm ! — my very cares 
Are sweetness in my cup, as being sentj 

And country quiet, and retu'ed leisure 

Keep me from half the common fears and snares j 
And I have learnt the wisdom of content : 

Yea, and to crown the cup of peace with praise 

Both God and man have blest my works and ways. 



A MAN of no regrets 

He goes his sunny way, 
Owing the past no load of debts 

The present cannot pay; 
He wedded his first love 

Nor loved another since; 
He sets his nobler hopes above; 

He reigns in joy a Prince ! 

A man of no regrets, 

He hath no cares to vex, 

No secret griefs, nor mental nets 
Nor troubles to perplex : 



T H E H A P P Y M A N . 217 

Forgiveness to his sin, 

And help in every need, 
Blessings around, and peace within, 

Crown him a King indeed ! 

A man of no regrets, 

Upon his Empire free 
The sun of gladness never sets, — 

Then who so rich as he ? 
Yea, God upon my heart 

Hath pour'd all blessings down : 
Then yield to Him, with all thou art, 

The homage of thy crown ! 



High in Battle's antler'd hall. 
Ancient as its Abbey wall, 
Hangs a helmet, brown with rust, 
Cobweb'd o'er, and thick in dust; 
High it hangs, 'mid pikes and bows, 
Scowling still at spectral foes. 
Proud and stern, with visor down, 
And fearful in its feudal frown. 

When I saw, what ail'd thee, heart, 
"Wherefore should I stop, and start? — 
That old helm, with that old crest, 
Is more to me than all the rest; 
Batter'd, broken, though it be, 
That old helm is all to me. 
19 



218 HERALDIC. 

• 

Yon black greyhound know I well : 
Many a tale hath it to tell 
How in troublous times of old 
Sires of mine, with bearing bold, 
Bearing bold, but much mischance, 
Sway'd the sword, or poised the lance, — 
Much mischance, desponding still, 
They fought and fell, foreboding ill: 
And their scallop, gules with blood, 
Fess'd amid the azure flood, 
Show'd the pilgrim, slain afar 
Over the sea in Holy War; 
While that faithful greyhound black 
Vainly watch'd the wild boar's track, 
• And the legend and the name 
Proved all lost but hope and fame, — 
Tout est perdu, fors I'honneur, 
Mais " VEspoir est ma force " sans peur. 



Vanity, vanity ! dead hopes and fears. 
Dim flitting phantoms of departed years, 
Unsatisfying shadows, vague and cold. 
Of thoughts and things that made my joys of old, 
Sad memories of the kindly words and ways 
And looks and loves of friends in other days, — 
Alas ! all gone, — a dream, a very dream, 
A dream is all you are, and all you seem ! 

life, I do forget thee : I look back, 

And lo, the desert wind has swept my track : 

1 stand upon this bare and solid ground. 
And, strangely waken'd, wonder all around; 



T II R E N S . 219 

How came I here? and wlience? and whither tend? 

Speak, friend ! — if death and time have spared a friend : 

Behold, the place that knew me well of yore 

Knoweth me not; and that familiar floor 

Where all my kith and kin were \»ont to meet 

Is now grown strange, and throng' d by other feet. 

soul, my soul, consider thou that spot, 

Root there thy gratitude, and leave it not; 

Still let remembrance, with a swimming eye, 

Live in those rooms, nor pass them coldly by; 

Still let affection cling to those old days. 

And, yearning fondly, paint them bright with praise : 

O once my home — with all thy blessings fled, 

O forms and faces — gather'd to the dead, 

O scenes of joy and sorrow — faded fast! 

— How hollow sound thy footsteps, ghostlike Past ! 

An aching emptiness is all thou art, 

A famine hid within the cavern'd heart. 



Thou changeless One, — how blest to have no change, — 

Only with Thee, my God, I feel not strange : 

Thou art the same for ever and for aye,— r • 

To-morrow and to-day as yesterday. 

Thou art the same,— : a tranquil Present still; 

There I can hide, and bless Thy sovereign will : 

Yea, bless Thee, O my Father, that Thy love 

Call'd in an instant to the bliss above 

From ills to come and grief and care and fear 

Thy type to me, most honoured and most dear! 

true and tender spirit, pure and good, 

So vext on earth and little understood, 

Thy gentle nature was not fit for strife, 

But quail'd to meet the waking woes of life; 

And therefore God Our Father kindly made 

Thy sleep a death, lest thou shouldst feel afraid ! 



220 THE DEAD. 



fB I 



I LOVE the dead! 
The precious spii'its gone before, 
And waiting on that peaceful shore 
To meet with welcome looks 

and kiss me yet once more. 

I love the dead ! 
And fondly doth my fancy paint 
Each dear one, wash'd from earthly taint, 
By patience and by hope 

made a most gentle saint. 

glorious dead! 
Without one spot upon the dress 
Of your ethereal loveliness, 
Ye linger round me still 

with earnest will to bless. 

Enfranchised dead ! 
Each fault and failing left behind, 
And nothing now to chill or bind, 
How gloriously ye reign 

in majesty of mind! 

royal dead! 
The resting, free, unfettered dead, 
The yearning, conscious, holy dead, 
The hoping, waiting, calm, 

the happy changeless dead! 



THE DEAD. 221 

I love the dead! 
And well forget their little ill, 
Eager to bask my memory still 
In all their best of words 

and deeds and ways and will. 

I bless the^ead ! 
Their good, half choked by this world's weeds, 
Is blooming now in heavenly meads, 
And ripening golden fruit 

of all those early seeds. 

I trust the dead! 
They understand me frankly now, 
There are no clouds on heart or brow, 
But spirit, reading spirit, 

answereth glow for glow. 

I praise the dead! 
All their tears are wiped away, 
Their darkness turn'd to perfect day,— 
How blessed are the dead, 

how beautiful be th^! 

O gracious dead! 
That watch me from your paradise 
With happy tender starlike eyes. 
Let your sweet influence rain 

me blessings from the skies. 

Yet, helpless dead, 
Vainly my yearning nature dares 
Such unpremediteted prayers; — 
All vain it were for them -, 

as even for m-e theirs. 
19* 



222 T H E D E A D . 

Immortal dead ! 
Ye in your lot are fix'd as fate 
And man or angel is too late 
To beckon back by prayer 

one change upon your state. 

0, godlike dead, 
Ye that do rest, like Noah's dove, 
Fearless I leave you to the love 
Of Him who gave you peace, 

to bear with you above ! 

And ye, the dead, 
Godless on earth, and gone astray, 
Alas, your hour is past away, — 
The Judge is just; for you 

it now were sin to pray. 

Still, all ye dead, 
First may be last and last be first, — 
Charity counteth no man curst. 
But hopeth still in Him 

^ whose love would save the worst. 

Therefore, ye dead, 
I love you, be ye good or ill. 
For God, our God, doth love me still. 
And you He loved on earth 

with love that nought could chill. 

And some, just dead. 
To me on earth most deeply dear. 
Who loved and nursed and blest me here, 
I love you with a love 

that casteth out all fear : 



THE DEAD. 223 



Come near me, Dead ! 
In spirit come to me, and kiss, — 
No! — I must wait awhile for this: 
A few, few years or days, 

And I too feed on bliss! 



OuTSPAKE a nation's voice, 

Concentred in her king. 
While cannons roar, and hearts rejoice. 

And all the steepfes ring: 

Outspake old England then 

By prelates and by peers: • 

By all her best and wisest men, 

Her sages and her seers — 

Old England and her pair 

Of sisters, north and west. 
The comely graces, fresh and fair. 

Who charm the world to rest. 

All honour to the brave ! 

The living and the dead. 
Who only fought to bless and save, 

And crush the hydra's head : 

All honour and all thanks 

To every mother's son, 
Saxon, or Celt, or Gael, or Manx, 

Who fought with Wellington ! 



224 T H A N K 8 TO WELLINGTON. 

For heroes were they all, 

To conquer or to die. 
By Ahmednuggra's bastion' d wall, 

Or desperate Assye : 

And, heroes still, they strive 
Against the dangerous Dane, 

When France stirr'd up th^ northern hive, 
To sting us on the main : 

All heroes, heroes still. 

For Lusitania's right; 
By red Roleia's hard-fought hill. 

And Yimiera^s fight: 

And stout the heroes stood 

On Talavera's day; 
And wrote their con?[uering names in olood, 

At Salamanca's fray : 

• Still heroes, on they went 
O'er Cuidad's gory fosse. 
And stern Sebastian's battlement. 
And thundering Badajos: 

And, heroes ever, taught 

Old Soult to fly and yield. 
Shouting "Victory" as they fought 

On red Vittoria's field; 

And, heroes ay, they flew 

To Orthez, conquering yet; 
Until, at whelming Waterloo, 

The Frenchman's, sun had set! 

Then, thanks ! thou glorious chief. 
And thanks ! ye gallant band. 

Who, under God, to man's relief 
Stretch'd out the saving hand: 



THANKS TO WELLINGTON. 2ft5 

All Britain thanks you well, 

By peasant, peer, and king; 
To all who fought for us, or fell, 

Immortal honours bring ! 

Peal fast the merry chime. 

And bid the cannon roar 
In praise of heroes, whom all time 

Shall cherish evermore ! 



(from PETRARCH.) 

My Laura, my love, I behold in thine eyes 
Twin day-stars that Mercy has given. 

To teach me on earth to be happy and wise 
And guide me triumphant to heaven ! 

Their lessons of love through a lifetime have taught 
My bosom thy pureness and sweetness; 

They have roused me to virtue, exalted my thought, 
And made my celestial meetness. 

They have shed on my heart a delightful repose; 

All else it hath barr'd from its portal; 
So deeply the stream of my happiness flows, 

I know that my soul is immortal. 



226 TO AMERICA, 



Columbia, child of Britain, — noblest child! 

I praise the growing lustre of thy worth, 
And fain would see thy great heart reconciled 

To love the mother of so blest a birth : 
For we are one, Columbia ! still the same 
In lineage, language, laws, and ancierit fame, 

The natural nobility of earth : 

Yes, we are one 3 the glorious days of yore 
When dear old England earn'd her storied name, 
Are thine as well as ours for evermore; 

And thou hast rights in Milton, ev'n as we, 
Thou too canst claim " sweet- Shakspeare's wood-notes 
wild,''— 

And chiefest, brother, wa are both made free 
Of one Religion, pure and undefiled ! 

II. 

I BLAME thee not, as other some have blamed, — 

The highborn heir had grown to man's estate; 
I mock thee not as some who should be shamed, 

Nor ferret out thy faults with envious hate; 
Far otherwise, by generous love inflamed. 

Patriot I praise my country's foreign Son, 
Rejoicing in the blaze of good and great 

That diadems thy head! — go on, go on, 
Young Hercules, thus travelling in might, 
Boy-Plato, filling all the -West with light. 

Thou new Themistocles for enterprise 
Go on and prosper. Acolyte of fate ! 

And, precious child, dear Ephraim, turn those eyes,- 
For thee thy Mother's yearning heart doth wait. 



TO AMERICA. 227 

IIT. 

Let aged Britain claim the classic Past, 

A shining track of bright and mighty deeds, 
For thee I prophesy the Future vast 

Whereof the Present sows its giant seeds : 
Corruption and decay come thick and fast 

O'er poor old England; yet a few dark years, 
And we must die as nations died of yore ! 
But, in the millions of thy teeming shore — 

Thy patriots, sages, warriors, saints, and seers — 
We live again, Columbia ! yea, once more 

Unto a thousand generations live. 

The mother in the child; to all the West 

Through Thee shall We earth's choicest blessings give, 
Even as our Orient world in Us is blest. 



IV. 

Thou noble scion of an ancient root. 

Born of the forest-king ! spread forth, spread forth,- 
High to the stars thy tender leaflets shoot, 

Deep dig thy fibres round the ribs of earth : 

From sea to sea, from South to icy North, 

It must ere long be thine, through good or ill. 
To stretch thy sinewy boughs : Go, — wondrous child I 
The glories of thy destiny fulfil; — 

Remember then thy mother in her age, 
Shelter her in the tempest, warring wild. 

Stand thou with us^ when all the nations rage 
So furiously together! — we are one: 

And, through all time, the calm historic page 
Shall tell of Britain blest in thee her son ! 



228 PAIN. 

Delay not, sinner, till the hour of pain 

To seek repentance : pain is absolute, 
Exacting all the body and the brain, • 

Humanity's stern king from head to foot: 

How canst thou pray, while fever'd arrows shoot 
Through this torn targe, — while every bone doth ache, 

And the scared mind raves up and down her cell 
Restless, and begging rest for mercy's sake? 

Add not to death the bitter fears of hell; 

Take pity on thy future self, poor man. 

While yet in strength thy timely wisdom can, — 
Wrestle to-day with sin ; and spare that strife 

Of meeting all its terrors in the van, 
Just at the ebbing agony of life. 



A RAGING throbbing tooth, — it burns, it burns! 

Darting its fiery fibres to the brain, 

A stalk of fever on a root of pain, 
A red-hot coal, a dull sore cork by turns, 
A poison, kindred to the viper's fang. 

Galling and fretting : ha ! it stings again, 

Eiving the sensitive nerve with keenest pang. 
Well; from this bitter let me cull the sweet. 

For Goodness never did afflict in vain. 
But wills that Pain should sit" at Wisdom's feet: 
Serve God in pleasant health; repent, and pray, 

While the frail body rests at grateful ease; 
And, sympathise with sickness and decay, 

Charitable to Man : remember these. 



20 



NO surrender! 229 



3gn Inmutor! 

FOR MUSIC. 

Ever constant, ever true, 

Let the word be. No surrender : 

Boldly dare and greatly do ! 

This shall bring us bravely through, 
No surrender, No surrender! 

And though Fortune's smiles be few, 

Hope is always springing new. 

Still inspiring me and you 

With a magic — No surrender ! 

Nail the colours to the mast, 

Shouting gladly. No surrender! 
Troubles near are all but past — 
Serve them as you did the last, 
No surrenoer. No surrender I 
Though the skies be overcast 
And upon the sleety blast 
Disappointments gather fast, 

Beat them off with No surrender I 

Constant and courageous still, 

Mind, the word is No surrender; 
Battle, though it be uphill, 
Stagger not at seeming ill, 

No surrender, No surrender ! 
Hope, — and thus your hope fulfil,^ 
There's a way where there's a will. 
And the way all eares to kill 
Is to give them — No surrender! 



230 NEVER mind! 



Mnn tniiiii! 

Soul, be strong, whate'er betide, 
God himself is guard and guide, — 
With my Father at my side. 
Never mind! 

Clouds and darkness hover near. 
Men's hearts failing them for fear, 
But be thou of right good cheer, 
Never mind ! 

Come what may, some work is done, 
Praise the Father through the Son, 
Goals are gain'd and prizes won, 
Never mind ! 

And if now the skies look black, 
All the past behind my back 
Is a bright and blesiki track; 
Never mind ! 

Stand in patient courage still, 
Working out thy Master's will, 
Compass good, and conquer ill; 
Never mind! 

Fight, for all their bullying boast, 
Dark temptation's evil host, 
This is thy predestined post; 

Never mind! 
Be then tranquil as a dove; 
Through these thunder-clouds above 
Shines afar the heaven of love; 

Never mind! 



THE CROMLECH DU TUS, GUERNSEY. 231 

€^t €xm\n)} k €m, §nmm]\. 

Hoary relic, stern and old, — 
Heaving huge above the mould 
Like some mammoth, lull'd to sleep 
By the magic-murmuring deep 
Till those grey gigantic bones 
Gorgon-time hath frowned to stones, — 
Who shall tell thine awful tale, 
Massy Cromlech, at "The Vale?" 

Ruthless altar, hungry tomb! 
Superstition's throne of gloom, 
Where in black sepulchral state 
High the hooded Spectre sate 
Terrible and throng' d by fears 
Brooding for a thousand years 
As a thunder-cloud above 
All that wretched men may love, — 
Is there no grim witness near 
That shall whisper words of fear, 
Every brother's heart to thrill, 
Every brother's blood to chill. 
While thy records are reveal' d 
And thy mysteries unseal'd? — 

Lift, with Titan toil and pain, 
Lift the lid by might and main, — 
Lift the lid and look within 
On — this charnel-house of Sin ! 
twin brethren, how and when 
Dwelt ye in this rocky den ? 
Rise, dread martyrs ! for your bones 
Chronicle these Cromlech-stones; 



232 THE CROMLECH DU TUS, GUERNSEY, 

Rise, ye grisly, ghastly pair, 

— Skeletons ! how came ye there — 

Kneeling starkly side by side 

More like life than those who died? 

More like life? — what a spell 

Of horror cowers in that cell ! 

More like life! — Alive they went 

Into that stone tenement, 

Bound as in religious ease 

Meekly kneeling on their knees, 

And the cruel thongs confined 

All but the distracted mind 

That with terror raved to see 

Woe ! how slow such death would be : 

Woe ! how slow and full of dread : 

Pining, dying, but not dead, — 

Pining, dying in the tomb, 

Drown' d in gulfs of starving gloom, 

With corruption, hideous fear, 

Creeping noiselessly more near. 

While the victims slowly died 

Link'd together side by side 

Till in manacled mad strife 

Both had struggled out of life ! 

Yea : some idol claim' d the price 

Of this living sacrifice j 

Some grim demon's dark high priest 

Bound these slaves for Odin's feast, 

Ofiering up with rites of hell 

Human pangs to Thor or Bel ! — 

Christians, ponder on these bones; 
Kneel around the Cromlech-stones : 
Kneel and thank our God above 
That His name, His heart is Love : 



THE CROMLECH DU TUS, GUERNSEY. 283 

That His thirst is — not for blood 
But, for joy and gratitude; 
That He bids no soul be sad 
But is glad to make us glad; 
That He loves not man's despair, 
But delights to bless his prayer! 



M^ «liitte, 1815. 

My little ones, my darling ones, my precious things of earth, 
How gladly do I triumph in the blessing of your birth; 
How heartily for praises, and how earnestly for prayers, 
I yearn upon your loveliness, my dear delightful cares ! 

children, happy word of peace, my jewels and my gold. 

My truest friends till now, and still my truest friends when old, 

1 will be everything to you, your playmate and your guide, 
Both Mentor and Telemachus for ever at your side ! 

I will be everything to you, your sympathising friend. 

To teach and help and lead and bless and comfort and defend; 

come to me and tell me all, and ye shall find me true, 
A brother in adversity to fight it out for you ! 

Yea, sins or follies, griefs or cares, or young affection^s thrall, 

Fear not, for I am one with you, and I have felt them all; 

r will be tender, just, and kind, unwilling to reprove, 

1 will do all to bless you all by wisdom and by love. 

My little ones, delighted I review you as ye stand 
A pretty troop of fairies and young cherubs hand in hand, 
And tell out all your names to be a dear familiar sound 
Wherever English hearths and hearts about the world abound. 
20* 



234 M Y C H I L D R E N . 

My eldest^ of the speaking eyes, my Ellin, nine years old, 
Thou thoughtful good example of the loving little fold. 
My Ellin, they shall hear of thee, fair spirit, holy child. 
The truthful and the well-resolved, the liberal and the mild. 

And thee, my Mary, what of thee ? — the beauty of thy face ? 
The coyly-pretty whims and ways that ray thee round with gract 

— more than these; a dear warm heart that still must thr 

and glow 
With pure affection's sunshine, and with feeling's overflow ! 

Thou too, my gentle five-year old, fair Margaret the pearl, 
A quiet sick and suffering child, sweet patient little girl, — 
Yet gay withal and frolicsome at times wilt thou appear, 
And like a bell thy merry voice rings musical and clear. 

And next my Selwyn, precious boy, a glorious young mind, 
The sensitive, the passionate, the noble, and the kind. 
Whose light-brown locks bedropt with gold, and large eyes fi 

of love. 
And generous nature mingle well the lion and the dove. 

The last, an infant toothless one, now prattling on my knee, 
W^hose bland benevolent soft face is shining upon me; 
Another silver star upon our calm domestic sky. 
Another seed of happy hope, dropt kindly from on high. 

A happy man, — be this my praise, — not riches, rank, or fam( 
A happy man, with means enough, — no other lot or name ; 
A happy man, with you for friends, my children and my wife, 

— Ambition is o'ervaulted here in all that gladdens life! 



A DEBT OF LOVE. 235 

a Ilrlit nf Xm. 1838. 

Thou, more than all endeared to this glad heart 

Bj gentle smiles, and patienee under pain, 
I bless my God, and thee, for all thou art. 

My crowning joy, my richest earthly gain ! 

To thee is due this tributary strain 
For all the well-observed kind oflSces 

That spring spontaneous from a heart, imbued 
With the sweet wish of living but to please; 

Due for thy liberal hand, thy frugal mind, 

Thy pitying eye, thy voice for ever kind. 
For tenderness, truth, confidence, — all these : 

My heaven-blest vine, that hast thy tendrils twined 
Round one who loves and won thee, not unsued. 
Accept thy best reward, — thy husband's gratitude. 



€fl littlB (gllin. 18 37. 

My precious babe, my guileless little girl, — 

The soft sweet beauty of thy cherub face 
Is smiling on me, radiant as a pearl 

"With young intelligence and infant grace : 

And must the wintry breath of life efface 
Thy purity, fair snow-drop of the spring? 

Must evil taint thee, — must the world enthrall 
Thine innocent mind, poor harmless little thing ? 

Ah, yes, thou too must taste the cup of woe, 

Thy heart must learn to grieve, as others do, 
Thy soul must feel life's many-pointed sting : 

But fear not, darling child, for well I know 
Whatever cares may meet thee, ills befall. 
Thy God, — thy father's God, — shall lead thee safe through all 



236 ON THE BIRTH OF LITTLE MARY. 



dDn % aSlttji nf IMb Mm- 1838. 

Lo, Thou hast crown' d me with another blessing, 

Into my lot hast dropt one mercy more; — 
All good, all kind, all wise in Thee possessing. 

My cup, bounteous Giver, runneth o'er. 

And still Thy princely hand doth without ceasing pour! 
For the sweet fruit of undecaying love 

Clusters in beauty round my cottage door, 
And this new little one, like Noah's dove. 

Comes to mine ark with peace, and plenty for my store. 
happy home, light and cheerful hearth ! 

Look round with me, my lover, friend, and -wife, 

On these fair faces we have lit with life. 
And in the perfect blessing of their birth. 
Help me to live our thanks for so much heaven on earth. 



^ffiargarrt 184 0. 

A SONG of gratitude and cheerful prayer 

Still shall go forth my pretty babes to greet, 
As on life's firmament, serenely fair. 

Their little stars arise, with aspects sweet 
Of mild successive radiance; that small pair, 

Ellin and Mary, having gone before 
In this affection's welcome, the dear debt 
Here shall be paid to gentle Margaret : 

Be thou indeed a Pearl, — in pureness, more 
Than beauty, praise, or price; full be thy cup. 
Mantling with grace, and truth with mercy met. 

With warm and generous charities flowing o'er; 
And when the Great King makes His jewels up, 
Shine forth, child-angel, in His coronet ! 



TO LITTLE SELWYN. 237 

€n littk §tlm\\n. 1812. 

Not slender is tlie triumph and the joy, 

To know and feel that, for his father's sake, 
The world will look with favour on my boyj 
— On thee, my pretty little prattling son, — 
On thee ! — and that it shall be thine to take 
(With whatsoever else of this world's spoil) 
For heritage the honours I have won. 
Speed on, my second self, speed nobly on ! 
Forget, in good men's praise, the strife and toil 

Which Folly's herd shall still around thee make 
If thou dost well; speed on in gifts and grace, 

Beloved of G-od and man, even as now; 
Speed, — and in both worlds win the glorious race. 
Bearing thy father's blessing on thy brow! 



(Dtt littlE WMm. \Ui. 

Look on this babe; and let thy pride take heed, 
Thy pride of manhood, intellect, or fame, 

That thou despise him not: for he indeed. 

And such as he, in spirit and heart the same, 

Are God's own children in that kingdom bright 
Where purity is praise, — and where before 
The Father's throne, triumphant evermore, 

The ministering angels, sons of light. 

Stand unreproved; because they offer there, 
Mix'd with the Mediator's hallowing prayer, 

The innocence of babes in Christ like this : 
O guardian Spirit, be my child thy care, 

Lead him to God, obedience and bliss, 

To God, fostering che-rub, thine and his ! 



238 HENRY DE B. T. 

Hail then a sixth ! my douhly triple joy, 

Another blessing in a third-born boy, 

Another soul by generous favour sent 

To teach and train for heaven through content. 

Another second-self with hopes like mine 

In better worlds beyond the stars to shine. 

Another little hostage from above 

The pledge and promise of Our Father's love ! 

God guard the babe: and cherish the young child; 

And bless the boy with nurture wise and mild; 

And lead the lad; and yearn upon the youth; 

And make the man a man of trust and truth; 

Through life and death uphold him all his days, 

And then translate him to Thyself with praise ! 



^t Imntlj: iMln /. 4. nil 

So, one by one, Thy jewels are made up 
Ev'n to the perfect number, glorious Lord! 
So, one by one, ambrosially pom''d 
These rills of happiness overflow my cup. 
Add yet this grace. Contentment with Enough : 

That, resting always on Thy gracious word. 
My band of innocent babes, my beauteous band, 
Through all the maze of life, thorny and rough. 
To Thee in praj^or continually given. 
Safely may pass along; and, hand in hand, 
A lustrous company, a blessed seven, 
Pure as the Pleiads, as the Sages wise. 
With hearts commingled like the rainbow dyes. 

May shine together, heirs of earth and heaven! 



ERRATA. 239 



(Krrntu, 

AN author's complaint. 

O FRIENDS and brothers, judge me not unheard; 

Make not a man offender for a word: 

For often have I noted seeming fault 

That harm'd my rhymes, and made my reasons halt, 

Whilst all that error was some printer's sloth, 

Who scorning rhyme and reason slew them both: 

Be ye then liberal to your fai'-off friend. 

Where garbled, guess him ; and where maim'd, amend ; 

Trust him for wit, when types have marr'd the word. 

And wisdom too, where only blockheads err'd. 



A Reply to Longfellow's Poem on Mars, in " Voices of the Night. 
Thou lover of the blaze of Mars, 



Come out with me to-night, 
For I have found among the stars 
A name of nobler light. 

Thy boast is of the unconquer'd Mind, 
The strong, the stern, the still; 

Mine of the happier Heart, resign'd 
To Wisdom's holy will. 

They call my star by beauty's name. 
The gentle Queen of Love; 

And look ! how fair its tender flame 
Is flickering above : 



240 VENUS. 

star of peace, torcli of hope, 
I hail thy precious ray 

A diamond on the ebon cope 
To shine the dark away. 

Within my heart there is no light 
But cometh from above, 

1 give the first watch of the night 
To the sweet planet. Love : 

The star of Charity and Truth, 
Of cheerful thoughts and sage, 

The lamp to guide my steps in Youth 
And gladden mine old age ! 

O brother, yield: thy fiery Mars 
For all his mailed might 

Is not so strong among the stars 
As mine, the Queen of night : 

A Queen to shine all nights away, 
And make the morn more clear, 

Contentment gilding every day, — 
—There is no twilight here ! 

Yes; in a trial world like this 
Where all that comes — is sent, 

Learn how divine a thing it is 
To smile and be content! 



THE WARM YOUNG HEART." 241 



''€)ft innrm ijnirag ^uiV 

FOR MUSIC. 

A BEAUTIFUL face, and a form of grace 

Were a pleasant sight to see, 
And gold, and gems, and diadems, 

Right excellent they be : 
But beauty and gold, though both be untold, 

Are things of a worldly mart, 
The wealth that I prize, above ingots or eyes, 

Is a heart, — a warm young heart ! 

face most fair, shall thy beauty c(5mpare 
With affection's glowing light? 

riches and pride, how pale ye beside 
Love's wealth, serene and bright ! 

1 spurn thee away, as a cold thing of clay. 
Though gilded and carved thou art. 

For all that I prize, in its smiles and its sighs, 
Is a heart — a warm young heart ! 



(From Klopstoch.) 

She slumbers. — blessed sleep, rain from thy wings 
Thy life-giving balm on her delicate frame; 

A.nd send thou from Eden's ambrosial springs 
A few flashing drops of their crystallous flame, — 
21 



242 T O C I D L I, A S L E E P . . 

Thou spread tlioni, soft painter, upon her ^Yllite cheek 
Where sickness hath oaton the roses away; 

Love's gentle refresher, Care's comforter meek, 

Thou moon of sweet blessings, pom* down the kind ray 

To smile on my Oidli : she slumbers : be still, 
Hush'd be thy soft-flowing notes, my lyre. 

Thy laurels mine anger shall scathe and shall kill, 
If idly thou waken my sleeping desu-o. 



Born at Wantage, in Bcrh^hire, Oct. '2'\ 840, 

Come, every true-born Englishman I come Anglo-Saxons all ! 
I wake a tune to-day to take and hold your hearts iu thrall ; 
I sing The King, the Saxon king, the glorious and the great, 
The root and spring of everything we love iu Church and Stat 

'Tis just a thous;md yeai*s to-day, — Oh I years are swift and brief,- 

Since erst uprose iu majesty the day-star of om* Chief, 

Since Wantage bred a wondrous child, whom God hath made tl 

Cause 
Of half the best we boast in British liberties and laws. 

Last-born of royal Ethelwolf, he left his island home, 
I'lysses-like, to study men and marvels in old Eome ; 
And, thonee in wrath retiu-niug, overthrew the pirate Pane, 
And, young as Pitt, at twenty-two, began a Hero's reign. 

Oh I Cuthran swore, and Hubba smote, and stm\ly Hinguar storm'i 
And still like locusts o'er the land the red maraudei-s swarm'c 
But Alfred was a David, to scatter every foe, — 
The shepherd, psalmist, warrior, king, unblamed in we^l and wo 



ALFRED. 243 

\.y, hiding with the hcrdsraan, or harping in the camp, 
)r earnestly redeeming time bencatli the midnight lamp, 
)r ruling on his quiet throne, or fighting in the fen, 
)ur Alfred was indeed an Agamemnon, king of Men ! 

Jnshrinking champion of the Right, in patriot strength he stood, — 
declare it, threescore fields of fight ! and mark it down in blood : 
Inflinching chief, unerring judge, he stoutly held the helm, — 
rdl out those thirty years of praise, all Albion's happy realm ! 

V. Solomon for wisdom's choice, — that he loved learning well 
jct Oxford chimes with grateful voice from all their turrets tell ; 
\. Numa, and Justinian too, let every parish sound 
:lis birthday on the merry bells through all the country round ! 

\. Nestor, while in years a youth, he taught as Plato taught, 
\. Constantine, a Washington, he fought as Scipio fought, 
\. Wellington, — his laurell'd sword with Peace was glory-gilt, 
^nd Nelson's earliest wooden walls of Alfred's oaks were built I 

) gallant Britons, bless the God who gave you such a prince, 
Tin like was never known before, nor ever hath been since, 
rhe fountain of your liberties, your honours and your health, 
Che mountain of your sturdy strength, the Opjhir of your wealth. 

ind now, arouse thee. Royal Ghost! in majesty look round; 
Dn every shore, in every clime, thy conquering sons are found; 
By kingdoms and dominions, by continents and isles, 
rhe Anglo-Saxon realm is ffly hundred thousand miles ! 

\y, smile on us, and bless us in thy loftiness of love, — 
rhe name of Anglo-Saxon is all other names above, 
By peoples and by nations, by tribe and sept and clan, 
Two hundred millions claim it in the family of Man! 



244 ALFRED. 

They claim it, and they claim thee too, their father and their king ! 
O mighty Shade ! behold the crowds who claim thy sheltering wing : 
Thou hast o'ershadow'd, like an Alp, the half of this broad earth 
And where thy shadow falls is Light, and Anglo-Saxon worth! 

The energy, the daring, the cheerfulness, the pride. 
The stalwarth love of freedom, with Religion well allied. 
The trust in God for ever, and the hope in Man for time. 
These characters they learnt of thee, and stand like thee sublime. 

Where'er thy gracious children come, a blessing there they bring, 
The sweet securities of Home around that place they fling, 
Warm Comfort, and pure Charity, and Duty's bright blue eye, 
And Enterprize, and Industry, are stars upon that sky ! 

Stout Husbandry amid those fields with soft Contentment meets, 
And honest Commerce, early up, is stirring in those streets; 
And all the glories of the sword, and honours of the pen. 
Make us the Wonder of the world, the Cynosure of men ! 

And, hark ! upon my harp and tongue a sweeter note of praise. 
How should a Saxon leave unsung what best he loves always? 
dearer, deeper, nobler songs to thrill the heart and mind, — 
The crown of womanhood belongs to English womankind ! 

Young maiden, modest as the morn, yet glowing like the noon. 
True wife, in placid tenderness a lustrous silver moon, 
Dear mother, loving unto death and better loved than life. 
Where can the wide world match me such a mother, maid, or wife J 

Fair Athelswytha, Alfred's own, is still your spirits' queen, 
The faithful, the courageous, the tender, the serene. 
The pious heroine of home, the solace, friend, and nurse, 
The height of self-forgetfulness, the climax of all verse ! 



ALFRED. 245 

And now, Great Alfred's countrymen and countrywomen all, — 
Victoria ! Albert ! graciously regard your minstrel's call ! 
Up, royal, gentle, simple folk ! up first, ye men of Berks ! 
And give a nation's monument to Alfred's mighty works ! 

In Anglo-Saxon majesty, simplicity and strengtli, 
children, build your Father's tomb, for very shame at length : 
The birthday of your king has dawn'd a thousand times this day, 
It must not die before you set your seal to what I say ! 



€jiB Bait Df K C'ljnimniiii ^^niB ! 

849. October 25, 1849. 

To-day is the day of a thousand years! 
Bless it, brothers, with heart-thrilling cheers! 
Alfred for ever! — to-day was He born. 
Day-star of England to herald her morn, 
That, everywhere breaking and brightening soon, 
Sheds on us now the full sunshine of noon, 
And fills us with blessings in Church and in State 
Children of Alfred, the Good and the Great! 
Chorus, — Hail to his Jubilee Day, 

The Day of a thousand years ! 



Anglo-Saxons ! in love are we met. 

To honour a name we can never forget ! 

Father, and Founder, and King of a race 

That reigns and rejoices in every place, — 

Root of a tree that o'ershadows the earth, 

First of a Family blest from his birth, 

21* 



246 THE DAY OF A THOUSAND YEARS. 

Blest in this stem of their strength and their state, 
Alfred the Wise, and the Grood, and the Great! 
Chorus, — Hail to his Jubilee Day, 

The Day of a thousand years ! 

Children of Alfred, from every clime. 
Your glory shall live to the death-day of Time ! 
And then in bliss shall ever expand 
O'er measureless realms of the Heavenly Land! 
For you, like him, serve God and your Race, 
And gratefully look on the birthday of Grace. — 
Then honour to Alfred! with heart-stirring cheers! 
To-day is the day of a thousand years ! 
Chorus, — Hail to his Jubilee Day, 

The Day of a thousand years ! 



I. (Obverse.) 

In simple majesty serenely mild, 

By pain well chasten'd, and made wise through grief, 
Calm like a king, while gentle like a child, 

Yet firm as may become the nation's chief, 
Alfred! I stand in thought before thee now. 
And to thy throne in duteous homage bow, 
After a thousand years ! My soul is glad, 

Thus to have roused to thankful thoughts of thee, 
From this dull mist of modern base and bad, 

The world of Englishmen; that haply we. 
United now again, as once thy will 

Determined, and still mindful of thy worth, 
Paragon of goodness, force, and skill ! 

Like thee, may be a blessing upon earth. 



THE ALFRED MEDALS. 247 



II. (Reverse 1.) 

Thy children, King of Men ! thy faithful ones, 

The boldly cheerful, true in head and heart. 
Salute thy crown with reverence as thy sous, 

And joy to see thee honour'd as thou art. 
By millions everywhere : behold, King ! 

These, whom old England's laws, old England's tongue 

And all the good that of thy sowing sprung 
Have nourish'd up like thee in everything. 

Claim thee for Father; yea, yon untold host. 
Ever the first to conquer and control. 

Ambassadors of truth to every coast. 
And mercy's messengers from pole to pole, 

Thee, mighty King, their bright example boast, 
And date their glories from thy Saxon soul. 



III. (Reverse 2.) 

Then, Brothers, be at peace and love each other, 

Let us contend for mastery no more, — 
Britain ! Columbia ! let the name of brother 

Echo with tenderness from shore to shore : 

We dare not hope that alien wars are o'er; 
We fear there yet must rage the strife of tongues; 

The races and religions of mankind. 
Mixing tumultuously their rights and wrongs. 

Yet with the flesh will battle out the mind : 
But us, one speech unites; to us, one birth. 

One altar, and one home, one Past belongs : 
One glorious Present over all the earth; 

One Future ! hark, the strain prophetic swelling,- 



Brothers in unity together dwellin 



248 SOCRATES TO LYSIAS. 



Inrratrs tn tpm. 

No ! Lysias ! — all that honied eloquence 

May not be buttress to my righteous cause; 
The majesty of Truth and Innocence 

Deigns not to hoodwink nor to cheat the laws: 
What, if my foe's benighted moral sense 

Will not, or cannot, see my holy ends? 
To lure the youth of iVthens to all good, — 

To knit mankind in one, a world of friends, — 
To win their worship from mere stone and wood. 

And preach the Unknown God ! — God of all, 
Thy will be done ! let falsehood work my fall, 
Martyr for truth I rise ! and dwell at ease ; 

The only Advocate on whom I call 
Is God Himself, — to plead for Socrates ! 



€l)t 311nnnrinl IXmhm 

OF THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE. AN ILLUSTRATION. 

Honour and Arms ! The seals of Grace 

upon this oriel glow; 
Arms, as when brothers may embrace, 

and not to fight a foe ; 
The arms of peace, heraldic arms, 

with blazon richly dight. 
Made gorgeous with chivalric charms, 

and gilt with glory's light! 



T H E M E M O R I A L W I N D O W . 249 

Honour and Arms ! brethren dear, 

I see your flashing eyes, 
I feel your true hearts hurrying near 

from all outlandish skies, 
To bask one hour in one dear spot, 

the kernel of your love. 
In poor old England unforgot, 

the blest of God above ! 

Centre of all, Britannia's shield 

in praise unsullied shines. 
Rose, shamrock, thistle, round its field 

a wreath of beauty twines; 
Sweet Erin's harp of melody, 

with Scotia's canton fair. 
And thine own royal lions three 

majestic roaming there. 

Next, to thy right, a mighty son, 

a stalwarth giant grown, 
A wanton and a truant one, 

and yet a child to own ! 
The sturdy stripes, — the glittering stars, 

long* may they blaze above. 
Not on the bloody helm of Mars, 

but in the crown of love ! 

Nearer thy heart another stands, 

a twin, but one in two. 
And bringing homage with both hands 

from one wide heart most true; 
Stern Caledonia's thistly praise 

reveals her hardy child. 
Where Canada's mild beaver strays 

to stock the western wild. 



260 T H E M E M O R I A L W I N D W . 

Shining above, in orient light 

the morning sun upsoars, — 
Hindustan's elephantine might 

is shadow'd on those shores; 
Their luscious fruits of tropic toil 

the sea-girt Indies breed, 
And forth from Afric's southern soil 

springs Anglo-Saxon seed. 

Beneath our Britain's blazon fair 

Australia's emu stands, 
And kangaroos are skipping there 

on rich unpeopled lauds ; 
New Zealand's war-boat paddles fast; 

and Borneo's royal ship 
Makes many a pirate scuffling past 

beware " the Badger's " grip ! 

Old Egbert's cross in golden light 

is shining over all, 
And, on its right, no viper's bite 

harms Malta's holy Paul; 
While huge Gibraltar's rock outstands, 

for bristling cannon cleft. 
Like Hercules with Samson's hands 

to pillar up the left. 

Below, with praise each lesser star 

in mingled lustre smiles, 
The storm-swept Falklands seen afar 

and soft Ionian Isles, 
With soft Sierra's libell'd beach, 

and Mandarin'd Hong Kong, 
And all who speak in English speech, 

or sing an English song. 



THE MEMORIAL WINDOW. 261 

heralds ! when and where before 

were Earth's true honours seen, 
In brightness and in beauty more 

than on this Gothic screen ? 
Where Britain, like a mother hen, 

is gathering to her wings 
The world of Anglo-Saxon men, 

creation's priests and kings ! 



a (Cull to pnr Innpstossrs, 

Daughters of poverty, jaded and ill, 

So vaioly prolonging the strife. 
How scarce for to-day, the day's task to fulfil, 
And, as for to-morrow, despondingly still 

In dread of the battle of life, — 

Toiling in pain for a pittance of bread, 

Or starving, with nothing to do. 
Friendless, and fever' d in heart and in head. 
And longing for rest to lie down with the dead, 

— A word, my poor sisters, with you ! 

There is a fair laud in a sweet southern clime. 

Another young England indeed. 
Which God, in His providence working sublime, 
Has kindly reserved till the fulness of time. 

To succour His children in need ; 

A happy new home, which He wills you to seek. 

With plenty to have and to spare, 
And hope in your bosom, and health on your cheek, 
And human affections all eager to speak 

Of tenderness waiting you there ! 



252 A CALL TO POOR SEMPSTRESSES. 

The valleys are rich, and the mountains are green, 

And the woods in magnificent state 
To the distant horizon o'ershadow the scene, 
Where never till now Adam's footstep has been, 
And Eve is delaying so late. 

Then haste for your happiness, — joyfully haste 

From perils and pains to be free; 
For, Providence calls you to gladden the waste 
And freedom, and plenty, and pleasure to taste 

In homes that are over the sea. 



a Coll ta tliE lUrli. 



{In aid of 3Ir. Sydney Herberts exertions on behalf of distressed 

Needlewomen.) 

Christian patriots, men of mighty heart ! 

One added word to you : the hour is ripe ; 
Thousands are thronging eager to depart 
From this fierce rivalry in mammon's mart. 

To happier shores, where penury's hard gripe 
On earth's rich zone is loosen'd : hasten then. 

Pour out your offerings with a liberal hand, 
Earnest in zeal to help your fellow-men. 

And from old England this reproach to wipe, 

That, crowded up in corners of the land, 
Virtuous toil can starve in sorrow's den ! 
Up ! use your wealth aright ; and prove its worth 

By generous aid to yonder homeless band. 
Who look to you to find them homes on earth. 



OUR THANKSGIVING HYMN. 253 



November 15, 1849. 

Father of mercies, Spirit of love, 

Son of the Blessed who reignest above. 

Thou Grood One, and Great One ! in homage to Thee, 

We bring the glad heart, and we bend the true knee. 

Thy people would praise Thee, Thou beyond praise ! 
For wondrous in love are Thy works and Thy ways; 
Thy children would pour from the heart and the voice 
Their psalm of thanksgiving in God to rejoice ! 

Because Thou hast heard us ! and answer'd the prayer 
"We made in the season of death and despau*; 
Because over judgment, and terror, and pain, 
Thy mercy hath triumph' d, and saved us again! 

Ah ! well we remember how dark and how dread 

The pestilence brooded o'er living and dead; 

And can we forget with what mercy and might 

The prayer which Thou blessest hath scatter'd the blight I 

Yet more ! for the fulness of plenty and peace 
Hath made us in wealth as in health to increase, 
And so would we thank Thee, because thou hast given 
The fatness of earth, and the favour of heaven ! 

Then, Father of mercies, accept what we bring, — 
Our incense of praise to the Saviour and King ! 
Hosannah ! — to Thee let us gratefully live, — 
Hallelujah ! - — O Lord, when Thou hearest, forgive, 
22 



254 ACCEPTABLE THANKS. 

Slmptnlib ^Ijiinfe! 

A SEQUEL TO " OUR THANKSGIYING HYMN." 

Thanksgiving! brothers, how pleasant a thing 

It is the glad anthem to raise 
In deep adoration of Heaven's High King, 

So far above blessing and praise ! 

Thanksgiving ! children of GrOD in all ranks, 

How then shall we worthily give 
A holy oblation, acceptable thanks, 

To Him in whose favour we live 1 — 

By penitence, patience, contentment, and prayer, 
By peace upon earth and goodwill, » 

By speeding the woes of affliction to share, 
And hasting the hungry to fill : 

By making, as masters, this Thanksgiving Day 

A holiday, happy and true. 
Not meanly withholding the journeyman's pay. 

But giving it all as his due ! 

By bringing an Englishman's home to the poor, 
A home of clean comfort, and peace; 

By driving disease and despair from his door. 
And making his hardships to cease : 

By Water, and Air, — the free bounties of Heaven; 

By wise recreation and rest; 
By fairly earn'd wages ungrudgingly given 

For Labour, — the honest man's test ! 



ACCEPTABLE THANKS. 255 

thus, if tlie rich for the poor man will move 

To better his home and his hearth, — 
thus, if the poor his rich brother will love, 

And honour his betters on earth, — 

Then God will be pleased! and this Thanksgiving Day 

Will indeed be a Summer of days, 
For Man will be gladden'd by Man as he may. 

And God by acceptable praise! 



rR03I PETRARCH. 

Sloth and the sensual mind have driven away 

All virtues from the world: where'er I range, 

I note on every side an evil change; 
Our steps are now unlit by heavenly ray : 
The .poet, walking in his crown of bay. 

Is pointed at — for scorn; the selfish herds 
Of mammon-worshippers insulting say 

'^What is the worth of all these metred words? 
Your crowns of bay and myrtle are but leaves : " 

And so Philosophy goes starved and lone. 
And Vice is glad, while widow'd Virtue grieves: 

Still, be not thou dishearten' d, generous one, 
Follow that path, which enter'd ne'er deceives, 

But leads if not to Gain, to Glory's throne. 



256 CONFESSION. 

€mimm. 

Alas, how many vain and bitter things 

My zeal, and pride, and natural haste have wrought; 

Yea, thou my soul, by word and deed and thought, 
The curse of selfishness hath scorch M thy wings: 

There is a fire within, I feel it now, 
A smouldering mass of strong imaginings 

That heat my heart, and burn upon my brow, 
And vent their hissing lava on my tongue 

Scathing, unsparing : — yet, my will is just, 
My wrath is ever quickened by a wrong, 

I flame — to strike oppressors to the dust. 
To crush the cruel, and confound the base, 

To welcome insolence with calm disgust. 

And brand the scoffer's forehead with disgrace. 



Nothing of thee shall perish, rare old Man ! 

Thou art an heirloom to the world and us; 

Let even me then bring my homage thus. 
And greet thee with such greeting as I can: 

For thou art not thine own; the nations claim 
Thee for their children's children, veteran, 
A spirit walking in immortal fame, 

The friend of Memory: Death is none of thine, 
Nor Self, the death of soul; thou wilt not spurn 
An acolyte, whose venturous footsteps turn 

Out of the track to offer at thy shrine : 
Because, Italian suns and classic skies 

Have ripen'd all thy heart blood into wine 
Excellent, spiritual, pure and wise. 



A SONG. 257 



% Inng. 



Ah Memory ! why reproach me so 

With shadows of the past, 
The thrilling hopes of long ago 

That came and went so fast? 
Ye tender tones of that dear voice, 

Ye looks of those loved eyes, — 
Return, — and bid my heart rejoice. 

For true love never dies! 

Rejoice ? — word of hope ! I may 

When those indeed return; 
For looks and tones so past away 

In solitude I yearn ! 
Let others fancy I forget 

The light of those dear eyes, — 
I love, — how I love thee yet ! 

For true love never dies. 



FOR MUSIC. 

Never go gloomily, man with a mind! 
Hope is a better companion than fear, 
Providence, ever benignant and kind. 

Gives with a smile what you take with a tear; 
All will be right. 
Look to the light, — 
Morning is ever the daughter of night, 
All that was black will be all that is bright, 

Cheerily, cheerily then 1 cheer up ! 
22* 



268 CHEER UP! 

Many a foe is a friend in disguise, 

Many a sorrow a blessing most true, 
Helping the heart to be happy and wise 
With lore ever precious and joys ever new; 
Stand in the van. 
Strive like a man ! 
This is the bravest and cleverest plan, 
Trusting in God, while you do what you can, 
Cheerily, cheerily then ! cheer up ! 



"€ngtttiBr." 

FOR MUSIC. 

The elm-tree of old felt lonely and cold 

When wintry winds blew high. 
And, looking below, he saw in the snow 

The ivy wandering nigh : 
And he said. Come twine with those tendrils of thine 

My scathed and frozen form, 
For heart and hand together we'll stand 

And mock at the baffled storm. 

Ha, ha! Together. 

And so when grief is withering the leaf 

And checking hope's young flower. 
And frosts do bite with their teeth so white 

In disappointment's hour, 
Thcugh it might overwhelm either ivy or elm 

If alone each stood the strife. 
If heart and hand together they stand 

They may laugh at the troubles of life, 
Ha, ha! Together. 



FRIENDS. 259 

I CANNOT move a mile upon this earth, 

I conld not, did I walk from end to end, 
But there I find a heart of wit and worth. 

Some gracious spirit to be hail'd a friend : 
there are frequent angels unawares. 

And many have I met upon my way, 
Kind Christian souls, to make me rich with prayers, 

Whilst in like coin their mercies I repay; 
And oft the sun of praise hath lit mine eyes. 

Generous praise and just encouragement. 
From some who say I help them to be wise. 

And teach them to be happy in content: 
Ah soul, rejoice ! for thou hast thickly sown 
The living world with friendships all thine own. 



m. c. 

Forgotten! — not forgotten, kind good man. 

Though seldom fully prized at thy great worth, — 
I will embalm thy memory as I can. 

And send this blessing to the ends of earth! 
For thou wert all things kiudly unto all. 

Benevolent and liberal from birth. 
Ever responsive to affection's call 

And full of care for others, — full of care — 
Weary with others' burdens, generous heart. 

And yet thine own too little strong to bear: 
Father ! I owe thee all, and cannot pay 

The happy debt, until I too depart; 
Then, will I bless and love it all away 

In that bright world, my Father, where thou art! 



Horace's philosophy. 



Wisely for us within night's sable veil 
God hides the future; and, if man turn pale 
For dread distrusting, laughs their fear to scorn. 

For thee, the present calmly order well: 
All else as on a river's tide is borne, 
Now flowing peaceful to the Tuscan sea 

Down the mid-channel on a gentle swell, 
Now, as the hoarse fierce mandate of the flood 
Stirs up the quiet stream, time-eaten rocks 
Go hurrying down, with houses, herds, and flocks, 
And echoes from the mountain and the wood. 
He stands alone, glad, self-possess' d, and free, 
Who grateful for to-day can say, I live; 
To-morrow let my Father take or give; 

As He may will, n'ot I — with dark or light 

Let God ordain the* morrow, noon or night. 

He, even He, can never render vain 

The past behind me; nor bring back again 

What any transient hour has once made fact. 

Fortune, rejoicing in each cruel act, 

And playing frowardly a saucy game, 

Dispenses changeful and uncertain fame. 

Now kind to me, and now to some beside. 

I praise her here; but if it should betide 

She spreads her wings for flight, I hold no more 

The good she gave, but in mine honest worth 

Clad like a man, go honourably forth 
To seek the undowried portion of the poor. 

Horace, lib. iii. 29. 



THE LAST TIxME." 261 



'' '&1 M €m:' 



Another year ? another year ! 

Who dare depend on other years? 
The judgment of this world is near, 

And all its children faint for fears: 
Famine, pestilence, and war, 

Mixt with praises, prayers, and tears, 
Civil strife and social jar, 

Spurr'd by pen, and stirr'd by sword, 
Herald Him who comes from far 
In Elijah's fiery car, 

Our own returning Lord ! 

Look around, — the nations quail ! 

All the elements of ill 
Crowd like locusts on the gale 

And the dark horizon fill: 
Woe to earth, and all her seed ! 

Woe they run to ruin still : — 
He that runneth well may read 

Texts of truth the times afford, 
How, in earth's extremest need 
Cometh, cometh soon indeed 

Our own redeeming Lord ! 

Lo, the marvels passing strange 
Every teeming minute brings; 

Daily turns with sudden change 
The kaleidoscope of things; 

But the Ruler, just and wise. 
Orders all, as King of kings, — 

Hark! His thunders shake the skies, 



"THE LAST TIME." 

Lo ! His vials are outpour M ! 
Earth in bitter travail lies 
And creation groans and cries 

For our expected Lord ! 

Stand in courage, stand in faith ! 

Tremble not as others may; 
He that conquers hell and death 

Is the friend of those who pray: 
And in this world's destined woe 

He will save his own alway 
From the trial's furnace glow, — 

Till the harvest all is stored, 
Rescued from each earthly foe, 
And the terrible ones below 

By our avenging Lord ! 

Yea, come quickly! Saviour, come! 

Take us to thy glorious rest, 
All thy children yearn for home, 

Home, the heaven of thy breast ! 
Help, with instant gracious aid! 

That in just assurance blest 
We may watch, — nor feel afraid. 

Every warning in thy word. 
Signs and tokens all array' d 
In proof of that for which we pray'd, 

The coming of the Lord! 



GERALDINE. 263 

A SEQUEL TO COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 

(.Published in 1838.) 



PART L 

BEING THE THIRD OF CHRISTABEL. 

It is the wolf, on stealthy prowl, 

Hath startled the night with a dismal howl; 

It is the raven, whose hoarse croak 

Comes like a groan from the sear old oak; 

It is the owl, whose curdling screech 

Hath peopled with terrors the spectral beech ! 

For again the clock hath tolFd out twelve, 

And sent to their gambols the gnome and the elve. 

And awoken the friar his beads to tell, 

And taught the magician the time for his spell, 

And to her caldron hath hurried the witch, 

And aroused the deep bay of the mastiff-bitch. 

The gibbous moon, all chilling and wan, 
Like a sleepless eyeball looketh on. 
Like an eyeball of son*ow behind a shroud 
Forth looketh she from a torn grey cloud. 
Pouring sad radiance on the black air, — 
Sun of the night, — what sees she there? 

O lonely one, lovely one. 

What dost thou here in the forest dun, 



264 GERALDINE. 

Fair truant, — like an angel of light 
Hiding from heaven in deep midnight ? 
Alas ! there is guilt in thy glittering eye 
As fearfully dark it looks up to the sky; 
Alas! a dull unearthly light 
Like a dead star, bluely white, 
A seal of sin, I note it now, 
Flickers upon thy ghastly brow; 
And about the huge old oak 
Thickly curls a poisonous smoke. 
And terrible shapes with evil names 
Are leaping around a circle of flames, 
And the tost air whirls, storm-driven, 
And the rent earth quakes, charm-riven, — 
And — art thou not afraid? 

All dauntless stands the maid 
In mystical robe array 'd, 
And still with flashing eyes 
She dares the sorrowful skies, 
And to the moon, like one possest. 

Hath shown, — dread! that face so fair 
Should smile above so shrunk a breast. 

Haggard and brown, as hangeth there, — 
evil sight! — wrinkled and old, 
TRe dug of a witch, and clammy cold, — 
Where in warm beauty's rarest mould 

Is fashion'd all the rest; 
evil sight! for, by the light 
From those large eyes streaming bright, 
By thy beauty's wondrous sheen. 
Lofty gait and graceful mien. 
By that bosom half reveal'd, 
Wither'd, and as in death congeal'd, 
By the guilt upon thy brow. 
Ah ! Geraldine, His thou ! 



GERALDINE. 265 

Muttering wildly through her set teeth, 
She seeketh and stirreth the demons beneath, 
And — hist! — the magical mandate is spoken, 
The bonds of the spirits of evil are broken, 
There is a rush of invisible wings 
Amid shrieks, and distant thunderings, 
And now one nearer than others is heard 
Flapping this way, as a huge sea-bu'd. 
Or liker the deep-dwelling ravenous shark 
Cleaving thorough the waters dark, — 

It is the hour, the spell hath power! 
Now haste thee, ere the tempest lour, — 

Her mouth grows wide, and her face falls in. 

And her beautiful brow becomes flat and thin. 

And sulphurous flashes blear and singe 

That sweetest of eyes with its delicate fringe. 

Till, all its loveliness blasted and dead. 

The eye of a snake blinks deep in her head; 

For raven locks flowing loose and long 

Bristles a red mane, stifi" and strong, 

And sea-green scales are beginning to speck 

Her shrunken breasts, and lengthening neck; 

The white round arms are sunk in her sides, — 

As when in chrysalis canoe 
A may-fly down the river glides. 

Struggling for life and liberty too, — 
Her body convulsively twists and twirls, 
This way and that it bows and curls, 
And now her soft limbs melt into one 
Strangely and horribly tapering down. 
Till on the burnt grass dimly is seen 
A serpent-monster, scaly and green. 
Horror! — can this be Geraldine? 

23 



266 GERALDINE. 

Haste, haste, — ''tis almost past, 
The sand is dripping thick and fast, 
And distant roars the coming blast, — 

Swiftly the dragon-maid unroll'd 
The burnish' d strength of each sinewy fold, 
And round the old oak trunk with toil 
Hath wound and trailed each tortuous coil. 
Then with one crush hath splitten and broke 
To the hollow black heart of the sear old oak ! 

The hour is fled, the spell hath sped; 
And heavily dropping down as dead, 
All in her own beauty drest, 
Brightest, softest, loveliest. 
Fair faint Geraldine lies on the ground. 
Moaning sadly; 
And forth from the oak 
In a whirl of thick smoke 
Grinning gladly. 
Leaps with a hideous howl at a bound 
A squat black dwarf of visage grim. 
With crutches beside each twisted limb 
Half hidden in many a flame-colour'd rag, — 
It is Ryxa the Hag! 

Ho, ho ! what wouldst thou, daughter mine, 
Wishes three, or curses nine? 
Wishes three to work thy will, 
Or curses nine thy hate to fulfil? 

Ryxa, spite of thy last strong charm. 
Some pure spirit saves from harm 
Her, who before me was loved too well. 
Our holy hated Christabel; 



G E R A L D T N E . 267 

Her, who stole my heart from him 
One of the guardian cherubim 
Hovers around, and cheers in dreams. 
Thwarting from heaven my hell-bought schemes; 
Now, — for another five hundred years, 

O mother mine, will I be thine, 
To writhe in pains, and shriek in fears, 
And toil in chains, and waste in tears, 
So thy might will scorch and smite 

The beautiful face of Christabel, 
And will drain by jealous pain 

Love from the heart of Christabel, 
And her own betrothed knight, 
glad sight ! shall scorn and slight 

The pale one he hath loved so well. 
While in my arms, by stolen charms 
And borrowed mien, for Geraldine 
He shall forget his Christabel! 

It is done, it is done, thy cause is won ! 

Quoth Ryxa the Hag to Geraldine; 
Thus have I prest my seal on thy breast, 
Twelve circling scales from a dragon^ s crest, 
And still thy bosom and half thy side 
Must shrivel and shrink at eventide, 
And still, as every Sabbath breaks, 
Thy large dark eyes must blink as a snake's. 
Now, for mine aid ; — De Vaux will come 
To lead his seeming daughter home. 
Therefore I fit thee a shape and a face 
Differing, yet of twin-born grace. 
That all who see thee may fall down 
Heart-worshippers before thy throne, 
Forgetting in that vision sweet 
Thy former tale of dull deceit. 



GERALDINE. 

And, tranced in deep oblivious joy, 

Bask in bliss without alloy: 

He too, thou lovest, in thine arms 

Shall grace the triumph of thy charms, 

While the thirst of rage thou satest 

In the woes of her thou hatest. 

Yet, daughter, hark ! my warning mark ! 

Hallow' d deed, or word, or thought, 

Is with deadliest peril fraught; 

And if, where true lovers meet 

Thou hearest hymning wild and sweet, 

stop thine ears, lest all be marr'd, — ; 

Beware, beware of holy bard ! 

For that the power of hymn and harp 

Thine innermost being shall wither and warp, 

And the same hour they touch thine ears, 

A serpent thou art for a thousand years. 

Hush! how heavily droops the night 

In sultry silence, calm as death ! 
Gloomy and hot, and yet no light, 

Save where the glowworm wandereth; 
For the moon hath stolen by, 
Mantled in the stormy sky, 
And there is a stillness strange. 
An awful stillness, boding change, 
As if live nature held her breath, 
And all in agony listeneth 
Some terror undefined to hear, 
Coming, coming, coming near; 
Hushed is the beetle's drowsy hum, 
And the death-watch's roll on his warning drum, 
Hush'd the raven, and screech owl, 
And the famishing wolf on his midnight prowl, — 
Silent as death. 



GERALDINE. 269 

— Hark, hark ! he is here, he has come from afar, 

The black-robed storm iu his terrible car; 

Vivid the forked lightning flashes, 

Quick behind the thunder crashes, 

Clattering hail, a shingly flood. 

Rattles like grapeshot in the wood; 

And the whole forest is bent one way, 

Bowing as slaves to a tyrant's sway. 

While the foot of the tempest hath trampled and broke 

Many a stout old elm and oak ! 

And Geraldine? — who could tell 

That thou who by sweet Christabel 

Softly liest in innocent sleep. 

Like an infant's calm and deep. 

Smiling faintly, as it seems 

From thy bright and rosy dreams, 

Who could augur thou art she 

That, around the hollow tree. 

With bad charm and hellish rite 

Shook the heavens and scared the night? 

Alas ! for gentle Christabel, 
Alas ! for wasting Christabel : 
From evil eye, and powers of hell. 
And the strong magic of the spell, 
Holy Mary, shield her well! 



CnnrhiBinit to ^kil h 

The murderer's knife is a fearful thing. 
But what, were it edged with a scorpion's sting? 
A dagger of glass hath death in its stroke. 
But what, should venom gush out as it broke? 



270 GERALDINE. 

And hatred in a man's deep heart 

Festereth there like the barb of a dart, 

Maddening the fibres at every beat, 

And filling its caverns with fever-heat; 

But jealous rage in a woman's soul 

Simmers and steams as a poison-bowl; 

A drop were death, but the rival maid 

Must drain all dry, e'er the passion be stay'd; 

It floodeth the bosom with Ifltterest gall. 

It drowneth the young virtues all, 

And the sweet milk of the heart's own fountain, 

Choked and crush'd by a heavy mountain. 

All curdled, and harden'd and blacken'd, doth shrink 

Into the fossil sepia's ink: 

The eye of suspicion deep sunk in the head 

Shrinks and blinks with malice and dread, 

And the cheek without and the heart within 

Are blister'd and blighted with searing sin, 

Till charity's self no more can trace 

Aught that is lovely in feature or face; 

But the rose-bud is canker'd, and shall not bloom, 

Corruption hath scented the rich perfume. 

The angel of light is a demon of gloom, 

And the bruise on his brow is the seal of his doom! 

Ah ! poor unconscious rival maid. 

How drearily must thou sicken and fade 

In the foul air of that Upas-shade ! 

Her heart must be tried, and trampled, and torn 
With fear, and care, and slander, and scorn; 
Her love must look upon love estranged. 
Her eye must meet his eye, how changed. 
Her hand must take his hand unpressing, 
Her hope must die, without confessing; 



GERALDINE. 271 

And still she'll strive her love to smother, 

While in the triumphs of another 

The shadow of her joys departed 

Shall scare and haunt her broken-hearted; 

And he, who once loved her, his purest, his fii'st, 

Must hate her and hold her defiled and accurst, 

Till, wasted and desolate, calumny's breath 

Must taint with all guilt her innocent death. 



f nrt II. 



FOURTH OF CHEISTABEL. 



How fresh and fair is morn ! 

The dewbeads dropping bright 
Each humble flower adorn. 

With coronets of light. 
And jewel the rough thorn 

With sparks of chrysolite, — 
How beautiful is morn ! 

Her scatter' d gems how bright! 

There is a quiet gladness 

In the waking earth. 
Like the face of sadness 

Lit with chasten'd mirth; 
There is a mine of treasure 

In those hours of health, 
Filling up the measure 

Of creation's wealth. 

The eye of day hath open'd grey, 

And the gallant sun 
Hath trick 'd his beams by Rydal's streams, 

And waveless Coniston ; 



272 GERALDINE. 

From LaDgdale Pikes his glory strikes, 

From heath and giant hill, 
From many a tairn, and stone-built-cairn, 

And many a momitain rill: 
Helv'ellyn bares his forehead black, 
And Eagle-crag and Saddleback, 
And Skiddaw hails the dawning day 
And rolls his robe of clouds away. 

Ho, warder, ho ! in chivalrous state, 

A stranger-knight to the castle gate, 

"With trumpet, and banner, and mailed men, 

Comes this way winding up the glen : 

His visor is down, and he will not proclaim 

To the challenge within his lineage or name, 

Yet by his herald, and esquires eight. 

And five-score spearmen, tall and straight. 

And blazon rich with bearings rare, 

And highbred ease, and noble air. 

And golden spurs, and sword, can he be 

Nought but a knight of high degree ! 

Alas! they had loved too soon, too well. 

Young Amador and Christabel; 

Life's dawn beheld them, blythe and bland, 

Little playmates, hand in hand. 

Over fell and field and heather 

Wandering innocent together. 

Alone in childhood's rosy hours 

Straying far to find wild flowers; 

Life's sun above its eastern hill 

Saw them inseparable still 

In the bower, or by the brook. 

Or spelling out the monkish book, 



G E E, A L D I N E . 273 

Or as with songs they wont to wake 

The echoes on the hill-bound lake, 

Or as with tales to while away 

The winter's night, or summer's day; 

Life's noon was blazing bright and fair, 

To smile upon the same fond pair, 

The handsome youth, the beauteous maid. 

Together still in sun or shade; 

Warmer, good sooth, than wont with friends. 

While he supports, and she depends, 

As to some dangerous craggy height 

They climb with terror and delight. 

Nor guess that the strange joy they feel, 

The rapture making their hearts reel. 

Springs from aught else than — sweet Grasmere, 

Or hill and valley far and near, 

Or Derwent's banks and glassy tide, 

Lowdore, or hawthorn'd Ambleside : 

Nor reck they what dear danger lies 

In gazing on each other's eyes; 

On her bright cheek, fresh and fair, 

Blooming in the mountain air. 

On his strong and agile limbs. 

As from rock to rock he climbs, 

Her unstudied natural grace. 

Loosen' d vest and tresses flowing. 
Or his fine and manly face 

With delighted ardour glowing. 

Thus they grew up in each other; 

Till to ripenM youth 
They had grown up for each other; 

Yet, to say but sooth. 
She had not loved him, as other 

Than a sister doth. 
And he to her was but a brother, 

With a brother's troth: 



274 GERALDINE. 

But selfish craft, that slept so long, 
And, if wrong were, had done the wrong, 
Now, just awake, with dull surprise 

Read the strange truth, 
And from their own accusing eyes 

Condemned them both, — 
That they, who only for each other 

Gladly drew their daily breath. 
Now must curb, and check, and smother, 

Through all life, love strong as death; 
While the dear hope they just have learnt to prize, 

And fondly cherish. 
The hope that in their hearts deep-rooted lies. 

Must pine and perish ! 
For the slow prudence of the worldly wise 
In cruel coldness still denies 
The foundling youth to woo and win 
The heiress daughter of Leoline. 

And yet how little had he err'd, 
That on his ear the bitter word 

Of harsh reproach should fall, — 
"Is it then thus, ungrateful boy. 
Thou wouldst his dearest hope destroy 

Who lent thee life and all ? 
Why did I save thee, years agone, 
Beneath the tottering Bowther-stone, 

Misfortune's outcast son? 
Why did I warm thee on my hearth, 
Nor crush the viper in its birth, 
thou presumptuous one?'' 

They met once more in sweet sad fear 
At the old oak-tree in the forest drear, 
And, as enamour' d of bitterness, they 
Wept the sad hour of parting away : 



G E R A L D I N E . 275 

The bursting tear, the stifled sob, 

The tortured bosom's fii*st-felt throb, 

The fervent vow, the broken gold, 

Their hapless hopes too truly told; 

For, alas I till now they never had known 

How deep and how strong their loves had grown, 

But just as they sip the full cup of the heart. 

It is dash'd frora the lip, — and they must part ! 

Alas, they had loved, yet never before 

The wealth of love had counted o'er. 

And just as they find the treasure so great, 

It is lost, it is sunk in the billows of fate. 

Yea, it must be with a fearful shock 

That the pine can be torn from its root-clasp' d rock, 

Or the broad oak-stump as it stands on the farm 

Be rent asunder by strength of arm; 

So, when the cords of love are twined 

Among the fibres of the mind. 

And kindred souls by secret ties 

Mingle thoughts and sympathies, 

what a wrench to tear in twain 

Those that are loved and love again, — 

To drag the magnet from its pole. 

To chain the freedom of the soul, 

To freeze in ice desires that boil. 

To root the mandrake from the soil. 

With groans, and blood, and tears, and toil! 

He is gone to the land of the holy war. 
The sad, the brave young Amador, 
Not to return, — by Leoline's oath* 
AVhen all in wrath he bound them both. 
Not to return, — by that last kiss. 
Till name, and fame, and fortune are his. 



276 GERALDINE. 

Ay, he is gone : — and with him went, 

As into chosen banishment, 

The bloom of her cheek, and the light of her eye, 

And the hope of her heart, so near to die : 

He is gone, o'er Paynim lands to roam. 

But leaves his heart, his all, at home; 

And years have glided, day by day. 

To watch him warring far away, 

Where, upon Gideon's hallowed banks 

His prowess hath scatter'd the Saracen ranks. 

And the Lion-king with his own right hand 

Hath dubb'd him knight of Holy-Land: 

The crescent waned wherever he came. 

And Christendom rung with his deeds of fame, 

And Saladin trembled at the name 

Of Amador de-Kamothaim. 

He hath won him in battle a goodly shield, 

Three wild boars Or- on an azure jBeld, 

While scallop-shells three on an argent fess 

Proclaim him a pilgrim and knight no less; 

Enchased in gold on his helmet of steel 

A deer-hound stands on the high-plumed keel, 

Hafiz his hound, who hath rescued his life 

From the wily Assassin's secret knife, 

Hafiz his friend, whom he loveth so well 

As the last gift of Christabel : 

And over his vizor, and round his arm. 

And graved on his sword as a favourite charm. 

And on his banner emblazon' d at length. 

Love's motto, "Hope is all my strength." 

O then, with how much pride and joy. 
And hope, which fear could scarce alloy. 
With heart how leaping, eye how bright. 
And fair cheek flush'd with deep delight. 



G E R A L D I N E . 277 



Heard Christabel the wafted story 
Of her far-off lover's glory; 

For her inmost soul knew well 
That he hoped and spake and thought 

Only of his Christabel, 
That he lived and loved and fought 

Only for his Christabel : 
So, she felt his honour hers, 
His welfiire hers, his being hers, 

And did reward with rich largesse 
The stray astonish'd messengers 

Who brought her so much happiness! 

— Behold ! it is past, — that many a year ; 
The harvest of her hope is near; 
Behold ! it is come, — behold him here ! 
Yes, in pomp and power and pride. 
And joy and love how true, how tried, 
He comes to claim his long-loved bride; 
Her own true knight, bliss to tell, 
Her Amador she loves so well 
Keturns for his sweet Christabel ! 

He leapt the moat, the portal past. 
He flung him from his horse in haste, 

And in the hall 
He met her ! but how pale and wan ! — 
He started back, as she upon 

His neck would fall; 
He started back, — for by her side * 

(0 blessed vision !) he espied 

A thing divine, — 
Poor Christabel was lean and white, 
But oh, how soft, and fair, and bright, 

Was Geraldine ! 
24 



278 GERALDINE. 

I Fairer and brighter, as he gazes 
All celestial beauty blazes 

From those glorious eyes, 
And Amador no more can brook 
The jealous air and peevish look 

That in the other lies ! 

Alas, for wasting Christabel, 

Alas, for stricken Christabel, — 

How had she long'd to see this day, 

And now her all is dash'd away ! 

How many slow sad years, poor maid. 

Had she for this day wept and prayM, 

And now the bitterest tears destroy 

That honied hope of cherish 'd joy. 

For he hath ceased, — withering thought, 

With burning anguish fully fraught, — 

To love his Christabel ! 
Her full heart bursts, and she doth fall 
Unheeded in her father's hall. 
And, oh, the heaviest stroke of all, 

By him she loves so well. 

O save her, Mary Mother, save ! 
Let not the damned sorceress have 

Her evil will; 
O save thine own sweet Christabel, 
Thy saint, thine innocent Christabel, 

And guard her still ! 



GERALDINE. 279 



(Cnurlusinii tn ^kxi IL 



For it dotli mark a* godlike mind, 

Prudence, and power, and truth combined, 

A rare self-steering moral strength. 

To over-love the dreary length 

Of ten successive anxious years, 

Unwarp'd by hopes, untired by fears; 

Still, as every teeming hour 

Glides away in sun or shower, 

Though the pilgrim foot may range. 

The heart at home to feel no change. 

But to live and linger on. 

Fond and warm and true — to one ! 

love like this, in life's young spring. 

Is a rare and precious thing; 

A pledge that man hath claims above, 

A sister-twin to martyrs' love, 

A shooting-star of blessed light 

Glancing on the world's midnight, 

A di'op of sweet, where all beside 

Is bitterest gall in life's dull tide. 

One faithful found, where all was lost, 

An Abdiel in Satan's host! 

To love, unshrinking and unshaken. 
Albeit by all but hope forsaken. 
To love, through slander, craft, and fear, 
And fairer faces smiling near. 
Through absence, stirring scenes among. 
And harrowing silence, suffering long. 
Still to love on, — and pray and weep 
For that dear one, while others sleep, 



280 G E R A L D I N E . 

To dwell upon each precious word 

Which the charm' d ear in whispers heard, 

To treasure up a lock of hair, 

To watch the heart with jealous care, 

To live on a rememher'd smile, 

And still the wearisome days beguile 

With rosy sweet imaginings 

And all the soft and sunny things 

Look'd and spoken, ere they parted, 

Full of hope, though broken-hearted, — 

there is very virtue here. 

Retiring, holy, deep, sincere, 

A self-poised virtue, working still 

To compass good, and combat ill, 

Which none but worldlings count earth-born, 

And they who know it not, can scorn. 

Ah yes, let common sinners jeer. 
And Mammon's slaves suspect and sneer. 
While each idolator of pelf 
Judging from his gross-hearted self 
Counts Love no purer and no higher 
Than the low plot of base desire; — 
Let worldly cunning nurse its dreams 
Of happiness, from selfish schemes 
By heartless hungry parents plann'd, 
Of wedded fortune, rank, and land,— 
There is more wisdom, and more wealth, 
More rank in being, more soul's health, 
In wedded love for one short hour. 
Than lifelong wedded pelf and power ! 
Yes, there is virtue in these things; 
A balm to heal the scorpion-stings 
That others' sins and sorrows make 
In hearts that still can weep and ache; 



GERALDINE. 281 



There is a heavenly influence, 

A secret spiritual fence, 

Circling the soul with present power 

In temptation's darkest hour, 

Walling it round from outward sin, 

While all is soft and pure within. 



pari III. 



BEING THE FIFTH AXD LAST OF CHRISTABEI. 

Hast thou not seen, world-weary man, 
Life's poor pilgrim white and wan, — 
A gentle beauty for the cheek 

Which nothing gives but sorrow, 
A sweet expression, soft and weak, 

Joy can never borrow ? 
Where lingering on the pale wet face 
The rival tears run their slow race 

Each in its wonted furrow; 
And patience, eloquently meek. 

From the threaten' d stroke unshrinking, 
In mild boldness can but speak 

The burden of its saddened thinking, — 
"Dreary as to-day has been. 
And sad and cheerless yestereen, 

'Twill dawn as dark to-morrow !" 

Desolate hearted Christabel, 
Hapless, hopeless Christabel, — 
24* 



282 GERALDINE. 

Nightly tears have dimm'd the lustre 

Of thy blue eyes, once so bright, 
And, as when dank willows cluster 

"Weeping over marble rocks, 
O'er thy forehead white 

Droop thy flaxen locks : 
Yet art thou beautiful, dear girl, 

As angels in distress, 
Yea, comforting the soul, fair pearl, 

With thy loveliness; 
For thy beauty's light subdued 

Hath a soothing charm 
In sympathy with all things good 

That weep for hate and harm; 
And none can ever see unmoved 

Thy poor wet face, with sorrow white, 
none have seen, who have not loved, 

The sadly sweet religious light 
That doth with pearly radiance shine 
From those sainted eyes of thine. 

A trampling of hoofs at the cullice-port, — 
A hundred horse in the castle-court ! 
From border-wastes, a weary way, 

Through Halegarth wood and Knorren moor, 
A mingled numerous array 
On panting palfreys black and grey 

With foam and mud bespatter'd o'er 
Hastily cross the flooded Irt, 
And rich Waswater's beauty skirt, 
And Sparkling-Tairn, and rough Scathwaite, 
And now that day is dropping late. 
Have passed the drawbridge and the gate. 

By thy white flowing beard, and reverend mien, 
And gilded harp, and chaplet of green, 



G E R A L D I N E . 288 

Aud milk-white mare in the castle-yard, 
Welcome, glad welcome to Bracy the bard! 
And, by thy struggle still to hide 
This generous conquest of thy pride, 
More than by yon princely train. 

And blazon'd banner standing near. 
And snorting steed with slackened rein, — 

Hail, too long a stranger here, 
Hail, to Laugdale's friendly hall, 
Thou noble spirit, most of all, 
Roland de Yaux of Tryermaine ! 

Like aspens tall beside the brook 
The stalwart warriors stood and shook 
And each advancing fear'd to look 

Into the other's eye; 
'Tis fifty years ago to-day 
Since in disdain and passion they 
Had flung each other's love away 

With words of insult high : 
How had they long'd and pray'd to meet! 
But memories cling; and pride is sweet; 
And — which could be the first to greet 

The haply scornful other? 
What if De Vaux were haughty still, — 
Or Leoliue's unbridled will 
Consented not his rankling ill 

In charity to smother? 

Their knees give way, their faces are pale, 
And loudly beneath the corslets of mail 
Their aged hearts in generous heat 
Almost to bursting boil and beat; 
The white lips quiver, the pulses throb. 
They stifle and swallow the rising sob, — 



284 Q E R A L D I N E . 

And there they stand, faint and unmann'd, 

As each holds forth his bare right hand ! 

YeSj the mail-clad warriors tremble, 

All unable to dissemble 

Penitence and love confest, 

As within each aching breast 

The flood of affection grows deeper and stronger 

Till they can refrain no longer, 

But with, — "Oh, my long-lost brother," — 

To their hearts they clasp each other, 

Vowing in the face of heaven 

All forgotten and forgiven ! 

Then, the full luxury of grief 

That brings the smother'd soul relief, 

Within them both so fiercely rush'd 

That from their vanquished eyes out-gush'd 

A tide of tears, as pure and deep 

As children, yea as cherubs weep ! 

Quoth Roland de Vaux to Sir Leoline; 
"No lady lost can be daughter of mine, 
For yestereen at this same hour 
My Greraldine sat in her latticed bower, 
And merrily marvell'd much to hear 
She had been found in the forest drear: 
Nathless, of thee, old friend, to crave 
Once more the love I long to have 
Ere yet I drop into the grave. 

Behold me here ! 
I hail'd the rich offer, and hither I sped, 
Glad to reclaim our friendship fled, 
And see that face, — ere yet it be dead, — 

I feel so dear; 
And my old heart danced with the joy of a child 
When out of school he leaps half-wild 
To think we could be reconciled." 



GERALDINE. 286 



''Thy tale is strange," quoth Leoline, 

"As thy return is sweet; 
Yet might it please thee, brother mine, 

In knightly sort to greet 
This wondrous new-found Geraldine; 
Certes, she is a thing divine, — 
So bright in her doth beauty shine 

From head to feet, 
A wondrous creature, most divine, 

For angels meet/' 

O glorious in thy loveliness ! 
Victorious in thy loveliness ! 
From what strong magnetic zone 
Circling some strange world unknovm, 
Hast thou stoFn sweet influence 
To lull in bliss each ravish 'd sense? 
That thine eyes rain light and love 
Kindlier than the heavens above, — 
That the sunshine of thy face 
Shows richly ripe each winning grace, — » 
That thine innocent laughing dimple, 
And thy tresses curling simple. 
Thy soft cheek, and rounded arm, 
And foot unsandall'd, white and warm, 
And every sweet luxurious charm 
Fair, and full, and flushM, and bright, 
Fascinate the dazzled sight 
As with a halo of delight? 

Her beauty hath conquer'd: a sunny smile 

Laughs into goodness her seeming guile. 

Ay, was she not in mercy sent 

To heal the friendships pride had rent? 

Is she not here a blessed saint 

To work all good by subtle feint? 



286 GERALDINE. 

Yea, art thou not, mysterious dame, 

Our Lady of Furness ? — the same, the same ! 

holy one, we know thee now, 

gracious one, before thee bow. 

Help us, Mary, hallowed one. 

Bless us, for thy wondrous Son — 

The name was half-spoken, — the spell was half-broken,- 
And suddenly, from his bent knee 

Upleapt each knight in fear! 
All warily they lookM around. 
Sure, they had heard a hissing sound 
And one quick moment on the ground 

Had seen a dragon here ! 
But now before their wilder' d eyes 
Bright Geraldine, all sweet surprise. 
With her fair hands, in courteous guise 
Hath touch'd them both, and bade them rise; 
"Alas, kind sirs," she calmly said, 
"I am but a poor hunted maid. 
Hunted, ah me ! and sore afraid. 
That all too far from home have strayM, 
For love of one who flies and hates me. 
For hate of one who loves and waits me/' 

Wonder-stricken were they then, 
And full of love, those ancient men. 
Full-fired with guilty love, as when 

In times of old 
To young Susannah's fairness knelt 
Those elders twain, and fiercely felt 
The lava-streams of passion melt 

Their bosoms cold: 
They loved, — they started from the floor,— 
But hist! within the chamber-door 
Softly stole Sir Amador; — 



GERALDINE. 287 

Nor look'd, nor wonder'd as they past, 
(Speeding by in shame and haste, 
Meekly thinking of each other 
As a weak and guilty brother,) 
For all to him in that dark room. 
All the light to pierce its gloom. 
All he thought of, cared for, there, 
"Was that loved one, smiling fair, 
Wondrous in her charms serene, 
Glad and glorious Geraldine. 

The eye of a hawk is fierce and bright 
As a facet-cut diamond scattering light, 
Soft and ray'd with invincible love 
As a pure pearl is the eye of a dove; 
And so in flashes quick and keen 
Look'd Amador on Geraldine, 
And so, in sweet subduing rays. 
On Amador did fondly gaze 
In gentle power of beauty's blaze 
Imperial Geraldine. 

His head is cushion'd on her breast. 

Her dark eyes shed love on his, 
And his changing cheek is prest 

By her hot and thrilling kiss. 
While again from her moist lips 
The honeydew of joy he sips, 
And views, with rising transport warm, 
Her half unveiFd bewitching form — 

A step on the threshold ! — the chamber is dim, 

And gliding ghost-like up to him. 

While entranced in conscious fear 

He feels an injured angel near, ^ 



GERALDINE. 

Sad Christabel with wringing hands 
Beside her faithless lover stands, 
Sad Christabel with streaming eyes 
In silent anguish stands and sighs. 

Ave, Maria! send her aid, 

Bless, oh bless the wretched maid ! 

It is done, — he is won ! — stung with remorse 

He hath dropt at her feet as a clay-cold corse, 

And Christabel with trembling dread 

Hath raised on her knee his pale dear head. 

And bathed his brow with many a tear. 

And listenM for his breath in fear. 

And when she thought that none was near 

But guardian saints, and God above. 

Set on his lips the seal of her love ! 

But G-eraldine had watch'd that kiss, 

And with involuntary hiss 

And malice in her snake-like stare 

She gnash'd her teeth on the loving pair 

And glared on them both with a deadly glare. 

Softly through the sounding hall 

In rich melodious notes. 
With many a gentle swell and fall, 

Holy music floats. 
Like gossamer in a sultry sky 
Dropping low, or sailing high: 
Bard Bracy, bard Bracy, that touch was thine 

On Cambria's harp with triple strings. 
Wild and sweet is the hymn divine. 

Fanning the air like unseen wings, — 



GERALDINE. 289 

What aileth thee, Geraldine ? 
What horror is hunting thee, Geraldine? — 
Thy body convulsed groweth lank and lean, 
Thy smooth white neck is shrivell'd and green, 
Thine eyes are blear'd and sunk and keen, — 
Away! — for the love, and the wild sweet harp, 
Thine innermost being do wither and warp, 
Away ! to the pains, and the chains, and the fears, 
Away ! to the torments, the toils, and the tears, 
Away ! for a thousand years. 



(Cnnrlusinn tn |5iirt IIL 

Sweet Christabel, my Christabel, 
I have riven thy heart that loved so well : 
weak, wicked, to rend in its home 
The love that I cherish wherever I roam ! 
As when with his glory the morning sun 

Floods on a sudden the tropical sky, 
And startled twilight, dim and dun, 

Flies from the fear of his conquering eye, 
So flash' d across the lightened breast 

Of Christabel, no more to moan, 
A dawn of love, the happiest 

Her maiden heart had ever known; 
For yea, it was only through powers of hell, 
And evil eye, and potent spell, 
That Amador to Christabel 

Could faithless prove, — 
And when she saw him kneeling near, 
Contrite, yet more in hope than fear. 
Oh then she felt him doubly dear. 
Her rescued love. 
25 



290 GERALDINE. 

Ave, Maria! unto thee 
All the thanks and glory be, 
For thy gracious arm and aid 
Saved the youth, and blest the maid. 
So falls it out, that vanquish M ill 
Breeds only good to good men still, 
And while its poison seethes and works 
It yields a healing antidote, 
Which, whether mortals use or not, 
Like a friend in ambush, lurks 
Deepest in the deadliest plot. 

Not swift, though soon, next day at noon, — 

Just at the wedding-hour 
As hand-in-hand betrothed they stand 

Beneath the chapel tower, 
A holy light, — a vision bright, — 

'Twas twelve o'clock at noon, 
A spirit good before them stood, 
Her garments fair and flowing hair 

Shone brighter than the moon. 
And thus in musical voice most sweet, — 
"Daughter, this hour to grace and greet 
To bless this day, as is most meet. 

Thy mother stoops from heaven: 
And, ancient men, who all so late 
Have stopp'd at Death's half-open'd gate, 
In tears of love to drown your hate 

Forgiving and forgiven. 
Hear, noble spirits reconciled, 
Hear, gracious souls, now meek and mild 
Albeit with guilt so long defiled, 

Love's lingering boon receive; 



GE-RALDINE. 291 



Roland de Vaux, — thy long-lost child, 
Whom border-troopers, fierce and wild, 
An infant from his home beguiled, 

Thy soul to gall and grieve. 
In Amador — behold!'' 

The spirit said, and all in light 
Melted away that vision bright: 
My tale is told. 



IMAGINATION. 



SOME EAELY POEMS. 



Thou fair encliantress of my willing heart. 
Who charmest it to deep and dreamy slumber, 
Gilding mine evening clouds of reverie, — 
Thou Siren, who, with lovelit eyes, and voice 
Most softly musical, dost lure me on 
O'er the wide sea of indistinct idea 
Or quaking sands of untried theory 
Or ridgy shoals of fixt experiment 
That wind a dubious pathway through the deep,- 
Imagination, I am thine own child: 
Have I not often sat with thee retired, 
Alone yet not alone, though grave most glad. 
All silent outwardly, but loud within. 
As from the distant hum of many waters. 
Weaving the tissue of some delicate thought, 
And hushing every breath that might have rent 
Our web of gossamer, so finely spun? 
Have I not often listed thy sweet song, 
(While in vague echoes and ^olian notes 
The chambers of my heart have answer'd it,) 
With eye as bright in joy, and fluttering pulse, 
As the coy village maiden's, when her lover 
Whispers his hope to her delighted ear? 
And taught by thee, angelic visitant. 



IMAGINATION. 

Have I not learnt to love the tuneful lyre, 

Draining from every chord its musical soul ? 

Have I not learnt to find in all that is, 

Somewhat to touch the heart, or raise the mind, 

Somewhat of grand and beautiful to praise 

Alike in small and great things? and this power, 

This clearing of the eye, this path made straight 

Even to the heart's own heart, its innermost core, 

This keenness to perceive and seek and find 

And love and prize all-present harmony. 

This, more than choosing words to clothe the thought, 

Makes the true poet; this thy glorious gift. 

Imagination, rescues me thy son 

(Thy son, albeit least worthy,) from the lust 

Of mammon, and the cares of animal life. 

And the dull thraldom of this work-day world. 

Indulgent lover, I am all thine own; 
What art thou not to me 'I — ah, little know 
The worshippers of cold reality. 
The grosser minds, who most sincerely think 
That sense is the broad avenue to bliss, 
Little know they the thrilling ecstasy 
The delicate refinement in delight 
That cheers the thoughtful spirit, as it soars 
Far above all these petty things of life; 
And strengthened by the flight and cordial joys 
Can then come down to earth and common men 
Better in motive, stronger in resolve, 
Apter to use all means that compass good. 
And of more charitable mind to all. 
Imagination, art thou not my friend 
In crowds and solitude, my comrade dear, 
Brother, and sister, mine own other self, 
The Hector to my soul's Andromache? 
25* 



294 IMAGINATION. 

Triumphant beauty, bright intelligence I 

The chasten'd fire of ecstasy suppress'd 

Beams from thine eye; because thy secret heart, 

Like that strange sight burning yet unconsumed, 

Is all on flame a censer fill'd with odours ; 

And to my mind, who feel thy fearful power, 

Suggesting passive terrors and delights, 

A slumbering volcano : thy dark cheek. 

Warm and transparent, by its half-form'd dimple 

Reveals an under-world of wondrous things 

Ripe in their richness, — as among the bays 

Of blest Bermuda, through the sapphire deep 

Ruddy and white fantastically branch 

The coral groves; thy broad and sunny brow. 

Made fertile by the genial smile of heaven. 

Shoots up an hundred-fold the glorious crop 

Of arabesque ideas; forth from thy curls 

Half hidden in their black luxuriance 

The twining sister-graces lightly spring, 

The muses, and the passions, and young love, 

Tritons and Naiads, Pegasus, and Sphinx, 

Atlas, Briareus, Phaeton, and Cyclops, 

Centaurs, and shapes uncouth and wild conceits; 

And in the midst blazes the star of mind. 

Illumining the classic portico 

That leads to the high dome where Learning sits : 

On either side of that broad sunny brow 

Flame-colour'd pinions, streak'd with gold and blue, 

Burst from the teeming brain; while under them 

The forked lightning, and the cloud-robed thunder. 

And fearful shadows, and unhallow'd eyes, 

And strange foreboding forms of terrible things 

Lurk in the midnight of thy raven locks ! 

And thou hast been the sunshine to my landscape. 
Imagination ; thou hast wreathed me smiles. 



IMAGINATION. 295 

And hung them on a statue's marble lips; 

Hast made earth's dullest pebbles bright like gems; 

Hast lent me thine own silken clue, to rove 

The ideal labyrinths of a thousand spheres; 

Hast lengthen'd out my nights with life-long dreams, 

And with glad seeming gilt my darkest day; 

Help'd me to scale in thought the walls of heaven, 

While journeying wearily this busy world; 

Sent me to pierce the palpable clouds with eagles, 

And with leviathan the silent deep; 

Hast taught my youthful spirit to expand 

Beyond himself, and live in other scenes, 

And other times, and among other men; 

Hast bid me cherish, silent and alone, 

First feelings, and young hopes, and better aims. 

And sensibilities of delicate sort, 

Like timorous mimosas, which the breath 

The cold and cautious breath of daily life 

Hath not as yet had power to blight and kill 

From my heart's garden; for they stand retired, 

Screen 'd from the north by groves of rooted thought. 

Without thine aid, how cheerless were all time, 
But chief the short sweet hours of earliest love; 
When the young mind, athirst for happiness. 
And all-exulting in that new-found treasure, 
The wealth of being loved, as well as loving, 
Sees not, and hears not, knows not, thinks not, speaks not. 
Except it be of her, his one desire; 
And thy rose-colour'd glass on every scene 
With more than earthly promise cheats the eye, 
While the charm'd ear drinks thy melodious words, 
And the heart reels, drunk with ideal beauty. 
So too the memory of departed joy. 
Walking in black with sprinkled tears of pearl. 
Passes before the mind with look less stern 



296 IMAGINATION. 

And foot more lighten'd, -when thine inward power, 
Most gentle friend, upon that clouded face 
Sheds the fair light of better joy to come, 
And throws round Grief the azure scarf of Hope. 

As the wild chamois bounds from rock to rock, 

Oft on the granite steeples nicely poised. 

Unconscious that the cliff from which he hangs 

Was once a fiery sea of molten stone 

Shot up ten thousand feet and crystallized 

When earth was labouring with her kraken brood; 

So have I sped with thee, my bright-eyed love. 

Imagination, over pathless wilds, 

Bounding from thought to thought, unmindful of 

The fever of my soul that shot them up 

And made a ready footing for my speed. 

As in a whirlwind I have flown along 

Wing'd with ecstatic mind, and carried away 

Like Ganymede of old, o'er cloudcapt Ida, 

Or Alps, or Andes, or the ice-bound shores 

Of Arctic or Antarctic, — stolen from earth 

Her sister planets and the twinkling eyes 

That watch her from afar, to the pure seat 

Of rarest Matter's last created, world. 

And brilliant halls of self-existing Light ! 



Ha ! ha ! ha ! — My coy Jungfra 
Is tall and robed in snow, — 

Yet at a leap to the topmost steep 
I bound from the glen below; 



THE SONG OF AN ALPINE ELF. 297 

On her dizziest peak I sit aud shriek 

To the winds that around me blow, 
And heard from afar is my ha ! ha ! ha ! 

The wild laugh echoes so. 
In the forests dun round Lauterbrunn 

That line each dark ravine, 
I hide me away from the garish day 

Till the howling winter's e'en; 
Then I jump on high through the coal-black sky, 

And light on some cliff of snow 
That nods to its fall like a tottering wall, 

And I rock it to and fro ! 
My summer home is the cataract's foam 

As it floats in a frothing heap, 
My winter's rest is the weasel's nest. 

Or deep with the mole I sleep; 
Or I ride for a freak on the lightning-streak, 

Or climb till I reach in the clouds 
The terrible form of the Thunder-storm, 

Wrapp'd in his sable shrouds ! 
Often I launch the huge avalanch. 

And make it my milk-white sledge, ' 
When unappall'd to the Grindlewald 

I slide from the Shrikehorn's edge; 
Silent and soft to the ibex oft 

I have stolen, and hurried him o'er 
The precipice to the bristling ice 

That smokes with his scarlet gore : 
But my greatest joy is to lure and decoy 

To the snow-di'ift's slippery brink 
The hunter bold, when he's weary and cold, 

And there let him suddenly sink, — 
A thousand feet — dead! he dropp'd like lead, 

Ha, he couldn't leap like me ; 
With broken back, as a felon on rack. 

He hangs in a split pine-tree ! 



298 THE SONG OF AN ALPINE ELF. 

And there mid his bones, that echoed with groans, 

I make me a nest of his hair; 
The ribs dry and white rattle loud as in spite 

When I rock in my cradle there : 
Hurrah, hurrah, and ha, ha, ha ! 

I'm in a madman's mood. 
For I'm all alone in my palace of bone 
That's tapestried fair with the old man's hair 

And dabbled with clots of blood; 
And when I look out all around and about, 
The storm shouts high to the coalblack sky, 
And the icicle sleet falls thick and fleet. 
And all that I hear on the mountains drear, 
And all I behold on the valleys cold. 

Is Death in Solitude ! 



A DREAM — mysterious word, a dream ! 

What joys and sorrows are enshrined 
In those dark hours we fondly deem 

A plaything for the truant mind : 

It is a happy thing to dream. 

When rosy thoughts and visions bright 
Pour on the soul a golden stream 

Of rich luxurious delight; 

It is a weary thing to dream. 

When from the hot and aching brain 

As from a boiling cauldron steam 
The myriad forms in fancy's train; 



D 11 E A M S . 299 

It is a curious thing to dream, 

When shapes grotesque of all quaint tilings 
Like laughing water-witches seem 

To sport in reason's turbid springs ; 

It is a glorious thing to dream, 

When full of wings and full of eyes 
Borne on the whirlwind or sun-beam 

We race along the startled skies; 

It is a wondrous thing to dream 

Of tumbling with a fearful shock 
From some tall cliff where eagles scream, 

To light upon a feather rock; 

It is a terrible thing to dream 

Of strangled throats and heart-blood spilt, 

And ghosts that in the darkness gleam, 
And horrid eyes of midnight guilt : — 

Who shall tell me what I dream? 

Ages lingering in a night, — 
Thronging thoughts of things that teem 

With wonder, terror, and delight ! 



§tifnut €\)xbt, iiiitlj ,flnnn?rs» 

Yes, — I can foncy, in the spring 
Of Childhood's sunny hours. 

That Nature's infant Priest and King 
Loved to gaze on flowers ; 



INFANT CHRIST, WITH F L (> W E R S 

For lightly, 'mid the wreck of all, 
When torn from Eden's bowers, 

Above the billows of the fall 
Floated gentle flowers: 

Unfallen, sinless, undefiled, 

Fresh bathed in summer showers, 

What wonder that the holy Child 
Loved to play with flowers? 

In these he saw his Father's face, 
All Godhead's varied powers, 

And joy'd each attribute to trace 
In sweet unconscious flowers: 

In these he found where Wisdom hides 

And modest Beauty cowers. 
And where Omnipotence resides, 

And Tenderness, — in flowers! 

Innocent Child, a little while. 

Ere yet the tempest lours. 
Bask thy young heart in Nature's smile, 

Her lovely smile of flowers; 

Thy young heart, — is it not array'd 
In feelings such as ours? — 

Yes, being now of thorns afraid, 
I see thee crown' d with flowers. 



PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 301 



A SAD sweet gladness, full of tears, 
And thoughts that never cloy 

Of careless childhood's happier years. 
Is Memory's tranquil joy; 

A rapturous and delusive dream 

Of pleasures ne'er to be. 
That o'er life's troubled waters gleam, 

Is Hope's sweet reverie : 

Yet, before Memory can look back, 
When Hope is lost in sight. 

Ah ! where is jMemory's fairy track, 
Ah ! where is Hope's delight ? 

The present is a weary scene. 

And always wish'd away ; 
We live on "/o be" and "has been," 

But never on " to-day." 



51 lljnrt (Snsi^tl 

Wisdom framed the wondrous plan 
Love had hoped for fallen man; 
Justice bade the blood be spilt; 
Mercy bore imputed guilt ; 
Truth rejoiced, and smiled to see 
Power had set the captive free. 



26 



802 ONABULBOUSROOT. 



(^n E foulkm Ennt; 

WHICH BLOSSOMED, AFTER HAVING LAIN FOR AGES IN THE HAND OP AJT 
EGYPTIAN MUMMY. 

What, wide awake, sweet stranger, wide awake? 
And laughing coyly at an English sun, 
And blessing him with smiles for having thaw'd 
Thine icy chain, for having woke thee gently 
From thy long slumber of three thousand years ? 
Methinks I see the eye of wonder peering 
From thy tall pistil, looking strangely forth 
As from a watch-tow'r at thy fellow-flowers, 
Admiring much the rich variety 
Of many a gem in nature's jewel-case 
Unknown to thee, — the drooping hyacinth, 
The prim ranunculus, and gay geranium. 
And dahlias rare, and heartsease of all hues, 
Mealy auriculas, and spotted lilies, 
Gaudy carnations, and the modest face 
Of the moss-rose : methinks thy wondering leaves 
And curious petals at the long-lost sun 
Gaze with a lingering love, bedizen'd o'er 
With a small firmament of eyes to catch 
The luxury of his smile ; as o'er the pool 
Hovering midway the gorgeous dragon-fly 
Watches his mates with thousand-facet vision; 
Or as when underneath the waterfall 
Floating in sunny wreaths the fretted foam 
Mirrors blue heaven its million orbs : 
Methinks I see thy fair and foreign face 
Blush with the glowing ardour of first love, 
(Mindful of ancient Nile, and those warm skies, 
And tender tales of insect coquetry,) 



ONABULBOUSROOT. 803 

When some bright butterfly descends to sip 

The exotic fragrance of thy nectarous dew : 

Even so, Jubal's daughters in old time 

"Welcomed the sons of GoD, who sprang from heaven 

To gaze with rapture on earth's fairest creatures, 

And fan them with their rainbow-colour'd wings. 

Didst ever dream of such a day as this, 

A day of life and sunshine, when entranced 

In the cold tomb of yonder shrivell'd hand ] 

Didst ever try to shoot thy fibres forth 

Through thy close prison-bars, those parchment-fingers, 

And strive to blossom in a charnel-house? 

Didst ever struggle to be free, — to leap 

From that forced wedlock with a clammy corpse, — 

To burst thy bonds asunder, and spring up 

A thing of light to commerce with the skies? 

Or didst thou rather, with endurance strong, 

(That might have taught a Newton passive power,) 

Baffle corruption, and live on unharm'd 

Amid the pestilent steams that wrapp'd thee round, 

Like Mithridates, when he would not die, 

But conquer'd poison by his strong resolve? 

Life, thy name is mystery,— that couldst 
Thus energize inert, be, yet not be. 
Concentrating thy powers in one small point; 
Couldst mail a germ, in seeming weakness strong, 
And arm it as thy champion against Death; 
Couldst give a weed, dug from the common field, 
What Egypt hath not. Immortality; 
Couldst lull it off to sleep ere Carthage was. 
And wake it up when Carthage is no more ! 
It may be, suns and stars that walk'd the heavens 
While thou wert in thy slumber, gentle flower, 



804 ON A BULBOUS ROOT. 

Have sprung from chaos, blazed their age, and burst 
It may be, that thou seest the world worn out, 
And look'st on meadows of a paler green, 
Flow'rs of a duskier hue, and all creation 
Down to degenerate man more and more dead, 
Than in those golden hours, nearest to Eden, 
When mother earth and thou and all were young. 

And he that held thee, — this bituminous shape. 

This fossil shell once tenanted by life. 

This chrysalis husk of the poor insect man, 

This leathern coat, this carcase of a soul, — 

What was thy story, mine elder brother? 

I note thee now, swathed like a Milanese babe. 

But thine are tinctured grave-clothes, fathoms long; 

On thy shrunk breast the mystic beetle lies 

Commending thee to Earth, and to the Sun 

Regenerating all; a curious scroll 

Full of strange written lore rests at thy side; 

While a quaint rosary of bestial gods, 

Ammon, Bubastes, Thoth, Osiris, Apis, 

And Horus with the curl, Typhon and Phthah, 

Amulets ciphered with forgotten tongues. 

And charm'd religious beads circle thy throat. 

Greatly thy children honour' d thee in death, 

And for the light vouchsafed them they did well, — 

In that they hoped, and not unwisely hoped. 

Again in his own flesh to see their sire; 

And their affections spared not, so the form 

They loved in life might rest adorn 'd m death. 

But this dry hand, — was it once terrible 
When among warrior bands thou wentest forth 
With Ramses, or Sesostris, yet again 



ON A BULBOUS ROOT. 805 

To crush the rebel ^thiop? — wast thou set 

A taskmaster to toiling Israel 

Wheu Cheops and Cephrenes raised to heaven 

Their giant sepulchres? — or did this hand, 

That lately held a flow'r, with murderous grasp 

Tear from the Hebrew mother her poor babe 

To fling it to the crocodile? — Or rather 

Wert thou some garden-lover, and this bulb, 

Perchance most rare and fine, prized above gold, 

(As in the mad world's dotage yesterday 

A tulip root could fetch a prince's ransom,) — 

Was to be buried with thee, as thy praise, 

Thy Kosicrucian lamp, thine idol weed? — 

Perchance, kinder thought and better hope. 

Some priest of Isis shrined this root with thee 

As nature's hieroglyphic, her half-guess 

Of glimmering faith, that soul will never die : 

What emblem liker, or more eloquent 

Of immortality, — whether the Sphinx, 

Scarab, or circled snake, or wide-wing'd orb, 

The azure-colour'd arch, the sleepless eye. 

The pyramid four-square, or flowing river, 

Or all whatever else were symbols apt 

In Egypt's alphabet, — than this dry root. 

So full of living promise ? — Yes, I see 

Nature's " resurgam " sculptured there in words 

That all of every clime may run and read : 

I see the better hope of better times, 

Hope against hope, wrapp'd in the dusky coats 

Of a poor leek, — I note glad tidings there 

Of happier things; this undecaying corpse 

A little longer, yet a little longer 

Must slumber on, but shall awake at last; 

A little longer, yet a little longer, — 

26* 



306 ONABULBOUSROOT. 

And at the trumpet's voice, shall this dry shape 
Start up, instinct with life, the same though changed, 
And put on incorrupt] on 's glorious garb : 
If aught of Israel's God he knew and loved, 
Brighter than seraphs, and beyond the sun! 



Will none befriend that poor dumb brute, 

Will no man rescue him ? — 
With weaker effort, gasping, mute, 

He strains in every limb; 

Spare him, spare: — he feels, — he feels,- 

Big tears roll from his eyes; 
Another crushing blow ! — he reels, 

Staggers, — and falls, — and dies. 

Poor jaded horse, my blood runs cold 

Thy guiltless wrongs to see; 
To heav'n, starved one, lame and old, 

Thy dim eye pleads for thee. 

Thou too, dog, whose faithful zeal 
Fawns on some ruffian grim, — 

He stripes thy skin with many a weal, 
And yet, — thou lovest him. 

Shame ! that of all the living chain 

That links creation's plan. 
There is but one delights in pain. 

The savage monarch, — man! 



CRUELTY. 307 

cruelty, — who could rehearse 

Thy million dismal deeds, 
Or track the workings of the curse 

By which all nature bleeds? 

Thou meanest crime, — thou coward sin, — 

Thou base flint-hearted vice, — 
Scorpion ! — to sting thy heart within 

Thyself shalt all suffice; 

The merciless is doubly curst, 

As mercy is "twice blest;" 
Vengeance, though slow, shall come, — but first 

The vengeance of the breast! 

Why add another woe to life, 

Man, — are there not enough? 
Why lay thy weapon to the strife? 

Why make the road more rough? 

Faint, hunger-sick, old, blind, and ill, 

The poor, or man or beast. 
Can battle on with life uphill, 

And bear its griefs at least; 

Truly, their cup of gall o'erflows ! 

But, when the spite of men 
Adds poison to the draught of woes, 

Who, who can di'ink it then? 

Heard ye that shriek? — wretch, forbear, 

Fling down thy bloody knife : 
In fear, if not in pity, spare 

A woman, and a wife ! « 



CRUELTY. 

For thee she toils, uncbiding, mild, 

And for thj children wan, 
Beaten, and starved, — with famine wild, 

To feast thee, monster-man : 

Husband, and father, — drunkard, fiend! 

Thy wife's, thy children's moan 
Has won for innocence a Friend, 

Has reach'd thy Judge's throne; 

Their lives thou madest sad; but worse 
Thy deathless doom shall be, 

"No mercy!" is the withering curse 
Thy Judge hath pass'd on thee : 

Heap on, — heap on, fresh torments add,- 
New schemes of torture plan, 

No MERCY ! Mercy's self is glad 
To damn the cruel man. 

GrOD ! God ! Thy whole creation groans, 
Thy fair world writhes in pain ; 

Shall the dread incense of its moans 
Arise to thee in vain ? 

The hollow eye of famine pleads, 

The face with weeping pale. 
The heart that all in secret bleeds, 

The grief that tells no tale. 

Oppression's victim, weak and mild. 
Scarce shrinking from the blow, 

And the poor wearied factory child. 
Join in th^ dirge of woe. 



CRUELT Y. 

O cruel world ! sickening fear 
Of goad, or knife, or thong; 

load of evils ill to bear ! 

How long, good God, how long? 



An Incident, founded on Fact. 

Poor Monsieur d'Alveron ! I well remember 

The day I visited his ruinous cot. 

And heard the story of his fallen fortunes. 

It was a jSne May morning, and the flowers 

Spread their fair faces to the laughing sun, 

And look'd like small terrestrial stars, that beamed 

"With life and joy; the merry lark was high 

Careering in the heavens, and now and then 

A throstle from the neighbouring thicket pour'd 

His musical and hearty orisons. 

The cot too truly told that poverty 

Found it a home with misery and scorn : 

No clambering jessamine, no well-train'd roses 

There linger' d, like sweet charity, to hide 

The rents unseemly of the plaster'd wall; 

No tight trimm'd rows of box, or daisy prim. 

Marked a clean pathway through the miry clay; 

But all around was want and cold neglect. 

"With curious hand, (and heart that beat with warm 

Benevolence,) — I knock'd, lifted the latch, 

And in the language of his mother-land 

Besought a welcome; quick with courteous phrase, 

And joy unfeign'd to hear his native tongue. 

He bade me enter. — 'Twas a ruin'd hovel; 

Disease and penury had done their worst 



810 MONSIEUR D'ALVERON. 

To hunt a wretched exile to despair, 

But still with spirit unbroken he lived on, 

And with a Frenchman's national levity 

Bounded elastic from his weight of woes. 

I listed long his fond garrulity. 

For sympathy and confidence are aye 

Each other's echoes, and I won his heart 

By pitying his sorrows; long he told 

Of friends, and wife, and darling little ones, 

Fortune, and title, and long-cherish'd hopes 

By frenzied Revolution marr'd and crush'd: 

But oft my patience flicker' d, and my eye 

Wander'd inquisitive round the murky room 

To see wherein I best might mitigate 

The misery my bosom bled to view. 

I sat upon his crazy couch, and there 

With many sordid rags, a roebuck's skin 

Show'd sleek and mottled; swift the clear grey eye 

Of the poor sufferer had mark'd my wonder, 

And as in simple guise this touching tale 

He told me, in the tongue his youth had loved, 

Many a tear stole down his wrinkled cheek. 

"Yon glossy skin is all that now remains 

To tell me that the past is not a dream ! 

Oft up my chateau's avenue of limes 

To be caress'd in mine ancestral hall 

Poor ^Louis' bounded, (I had call'd him Louis, 

Because I loved my King;) — my little ones 

Have on his rounded antlers often hung 

Their garlands of spring flowers, and fed him with 

Sweet heads of clover from their darling hands. 

But on a sorrowful day a random-shot 

Of some bold thief, or well-skill'd forester. 

Struck him to death, and many a tear and sob 



M N S I E U R D A L V £ R O N . 311 

"Were the unwritten epitaph upon him. 

The children would not lose him utterly, 

But pray'd to have his mottled beautiful skin 

A rug to their new pony-chaise, that they 

Might oftener think of their lost favourite : 

Ay — there it is ! — that precious treasury 

Of fond remembrances, — that glossy skin ! 

O thou chief solace in the wintry nights 

That warms my poor old heart, and thaws my breast 

With tears of — Mais, Monsieur, asseyez-vous !'^ — 

But I had started up, and turn'd aside 

To weep in solitude. — 



Ah, might I but escape to some sweet spot, 

Oasis of my hopes, to fancy dear, 
Where rural virtues are not yet forgot. 

And good old customs crown the circling year; 
Where still contented peasants love their lot, 

And trade's vile din offends not nature's ear, 
But hospitable hearths, and welcomes warm 
To country quiet add their social charm; 

Some smiling bay of Cambria's happy shore, 
A wooded dingle on a mountain-side, 

Within the distant sound of ocean's roar, 
And looking down on valley fair and wide. 

Nigh to the village church, to please me more 
Than vast cathedrals in their Gothic pride, 

And blest with pious pastor, who has trod 

Himself the way, and leads his flock to God. 



312 wisdom's WISH. 

"There would I dwell, for I delight therein!" 

Far from the evil ways of evil men, 
Untainted by the soil of others' sin, 

My own repented of, and clean again; 
With health and plenty crown'd, and peace within, 

Choice books, and guiltless pleasures of the pen, 
And mountain-rambles with a welcome friend. 
And dear domestic joys that never end. 

There from the flowery mead, or shingled shore, 
To cull the gems that bounteous Nature gave, 

From the rent mountain pick the brilliant ore. 
Or seek the curious crystal in its cave; 

And learning nature's Master to adore. 

Know more of Him who came the lost to save; 

Drink deep the pleasures contemplation gives. 

And learn to love the meanest thing that lives. 

No envious wish my fellows to excel. 
No sordid money-getting cares be mine; 

No low ambition in high state to dwell. 

Nor meanly grand among the poor to shine : 

But, sweet Benevolence, regale me well 

With those cheap pleasures and light cares of thin 3, 

And meek-eyed Piety be always near. 

With calm Content, and G-ratitude sincere. 

Rescued from cities, and forensic strife. 

And walking well with God in nature's eye, 

Blest with fair children, and a faithful wife. 

Love at my board, and friendship dwelling nigh, 

Oh thus to wear away my useful life, 

And when I'm call'd, in rapturous hope to die, 

Thus to rob heaven of all the good I can, 

And challenge earth to show a happier man ! 



27 



THE :m other's lament. 818 

€ljc 3Mntljrr'5 Xmml 

My own little darling — dead! 
The dove of my happiness fled ! 

Just PIcaven, forgive, 

But let me not live 
Now my poor babe is dead: 

No more to my yearning breast 
Shall that sweet mouth be prest, 

No more on my arm 

Nestled up warm 
Shall my fair darling rest : 

Alas, for that dear glazed eye, 
Why did it dim or die? 

Those lips so soft 

I have kiss'd so oft 
Why are they ice, oh why? 

Alas, little frocks and toys, 
Shadows of bygone joys, — 

Have I not treasure 

Of bitterest pleasure 
In these little frocks and toys? 

harrowing sight to behold 
That marble-like face all cold, 

That small cherished form 

Flung to the worm. 
Deep in the charnel-mould ! 

Where is each heart-winning way, 
Thy prattle, and innocent play ? 

Alas, they are gone. 

And left me alone 
To weep for them night and day : 



814 T H E M T H E R ' S L A M E N T . 

Yet why should I linger behind? 

Kill me too, — death most kind; 
Where can I go 
To meet thy blow 

And my sweet babe to find? 

I know it, I rave half-wild ! 
But who can be calm and mild 

When the deep heart 

Is riven apart 
Over a dear dead child? 

I know it, I should not speak 
So boldly, I ought to be meek, 

But love, it is strong; 

And my spirit is wrong,—' 
Help me, my God ! I am weak ! 



\ 'WN.^.'V-VN/ 



€xml 

"My times are in thy hand." 

Yet will I trust, in all my fears. 

Thy mercy, gracious Lord, appears, 

To guide me through this vale of tears. 

And be my strength; 
Thy mercy guides the ebb and flow 
Of health and joy, or pain and woe, 
To wean my heart from all below 

To Thee at length. 
Yes, — welcome pain, — which Thou hast sent. 
Yes, — farewell blessings, — Thou hast lent. 
With Thee alone I rest content, 

For Thou art Heav'n, — 



TRUST. 315 



My trust reposes, safe and still, 
Ou the wise goodness of Thy will, 
Grateful for earthly good — or ill. 

Which Thou hast giv'n. 
blessed friend ! blissful thought ! 
With happiest consolation fraught, — 
Trust Thee I may, I will, I ought, — 

To doubt were sin; 
Then let whatever storms arise. 
Their Ruler sits above the skies, 
And lifting unto Him mine eyes, 

^Tis calm within. 
Danger may threaten, foes molest, 
Poverty brood, disease infest. 
Yea, torn aifections wound the breast 

For one sad hour. 
But Faith looks to her home on high, 
Hope casts around a cheerful eye, 
And love puts all tte terrors by 

With gladdening power. 



€{iB ItnmmBm'H Cnnipliiiiil 

Ah, think it not a light calamity 
To be denied free converse with my kind, 
To be debarr'd from man's true attribute, 
The proper glorious privilege of Speech. 
Hast thou beheld an eagle chain'd to earth ? 
A restless panther in his cage immured? 
A swift trout by the wily fisher check'd? 
A wild bird hopeless strain its broken wing? 
Or ever felt, at the dark dead of night. 



316 THE stammerer's COMPLAINT. 

Some undefined and horrid incubus 

Press down the very soul, — and paralyse 

The limbs in their imaginary flight 

From shadowy terrors in unhallow'd sleep? 

Or ever known the sudden icy chill 

Of dreary disappointmentj as it dashes 

The sweet cup of anticipated bliss 

From the parch'd lips of long-enduring hope ? 

Then thou canst picture, — ay, in sober truth, 
In honest unexaggerated truth, — 
The constant, galling, festering chain that binds 
Captive my mute interpreter of thought; 
The seal of lead enstamp'd upon my lips, 
The load of iron on my labouring chest, 
The mocking demon that at every step 
Haunts me, — and spurs me on — to burst with silence! 
Oh! His a sore affliction, to restrain. 
From mere necessity, the glowing thought; 
To feel the fluent cataract o!f speech 
Check'd by some wintry spell, and frozen up, 
Just as it leapeth from the precipice ! 
To be the butt of wordy captious fools. 
And see the sneering self-complacent smile 
Of victory on their lips, when I might prove, 
(But for some little word I dare not utter,) 
That innate truth is not a specious lie; 
To hear foul slander blast an honour' d name, 
Yet breathe no fact to drive the fiend away; 
To mark neglected virtue in the dust. 
Yet have no word to pity or console; 
To feel just indignation swell my breast, 
Yet know the fountain of my wrath is seal'd; 
To see my fellow-mortals hurrying on 
Down the steep cliff of crime, down to perdition, 
Yet have no voice to warn, — no voice to win ! 



THE STAMMERERS COMPLAINT. 317 

'Tis to be mortified in every point, 
Baffled at every turn of life, for want 
Of that most common privilege of man, 
The merest drug of gorged society, 
Words, — windy words. And is it not in truth 
A poison'd sting in every social joy, 
A thorn that rankles in the writhing flesh, 
A drop of gall in each domestic sweet, 
An irritating petty misery. 
That I can never look on one I love 
And speak the fulness of my burning thoughts? 
That I can never with unmingled joy 
Meet a long-loved and long-expected friend. 
Because I feel, but cannot vent my feelings, — 
Because I know I ought, — but must not speak, 
Because I mark his quick impatient eye 
Striving in kindness to anticipate 
The word of welcome, strangled in its birth! 
Is it not sorrow, while I truly love 
Sweet social converse, to be forced to shun 
The happy circle, from a nervous sense, 
An agonizing poignant consciousness 
That I must stand aloof, nor mingle with 
The wise and good, in rational argument. 
The young in brilliant quickness of reply. 
Friendship's ingenuous interchange of mind, 
Affection's open-hearted sympathies, 
But feel myself an isolated being, 
A very wilderness of widow'd thought ! 

Ay, this is very bitter, — not less bitter 
Because it is not reckoned in the ills, 
"The thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to;" 
Yet the full ocean is but countless drops, 
And misery is an aggregate ol' tears, 

27* 



318 THE stammerer's COMPLAINT, 

And life replete with small annoyances 

Is but one long protracted scene of sorrow. 

T scarce would wonder, if a godless man, 
(I name not him whose hope is heavenward,) 
A man, whom lying vanities have scathed 
And hardened from all fear, — if such an one 
By this tyrannical Argus goaded on. 
Were to be wearied of his very life. 
And daily, hourly foil'd in social converse, 
By the slow simmering of disappointment 
Become a sour'd and apathetic being, 
"Were to be glad to fling away his life. 
And long for death to free him from his chain. 



There is indeed one crowning joy, 
A pleasure that can never cloy, 

The bliss of doing good; 
And to it a reward is given 
Most precious in the sight of heaven, 

The tear of gratitude. 

To raise the fallen from the dust, 
To right the poor by judgment just, 

The broken heart to heal, 
Pour on the soul a stream as bright 
Of satisfying deep delight 
As happy spirits feel : 



B E N E V O L i: N C E . 319 

Yes, high archangels wing their way 
Far from the golden founts of day 

To scenes of earthly sadness, 
That they may comfort the distress'd,— 
And feel in blessing, deeply blest, 

In gladd'ning, full of gladness. 

The choicest happiness there is, 

The glorious Godhead's perfect bliss, 

Is born of doing good; 
He looks around, and sees the eye 
Of all creation spangled by 

The tear of gratitude ! 

All hail, my country's noble sons, 
Ye Heaven-Sent unselfish ones. 

Who every realm have trod 
Smit with the love of doing good, — 
that my portion with you stood! 

For ye are like your God ! 

And lives there one, who never felt 
His heart with zeal or kindness melt, 

Nor ever dropt a tear 
Of sympathy for other's woe? 
If such a man exist below 

A fiend in flesh is here. 

Brethren, unsatisfied with earth. 
Who feel how heartless is its mirth 

How transient is its joy. 
Ye may, — there only wants the will,— 
Your dearest hope of bliss fulfil. 

Of bliss without alloy: 



BENEVOLENCE. 

Most glad a thing it is and sweet, 
To sit and learn at Wisdom's feet, 

And hear her blessed voice ; 
First in her comforts to be glad, 
And then, to comfort other sad. 

And teach them to rejoice. 

How sweet it is to link again 
Estranged affection's broken chain. 

And soothe the sorrowing breast; 
To be the favour'd one that may 
Recall to love hearts torn away. 

And thus by both be blest. 

Rich men and proud, who fain would find 
Some new indulgence for the mind, 

Some scheme to gladden self. 
If ye will feed the famish'd poor. 
Happiness shall ye buy, far more 

Than with a mint of pelf: 

Ye cannot see the tearful eye. 
Ye cannot hear the grateful sigh. 

Nor feel yourselves beloved 
By the pale children of distress 
Whom ye have been the gods to bless, — 

With hearts un thrill' d, unmoved. 

And you, who love your fellow-men, 
And feel a sacred transport, when 

Ye can that love fulfil, — 
Go, rescue yonder tortured brute. 
Its gratitude indeed is mute. 

But, oh ! it loves you still. 



BENEVOLENCE. 321 

Children of science, who delight 

To track out wisdom's beauty bright 

In earth, or sea, or sky, — 
While nature's lovely face you scan, 
Go, seek and save some erring man, 

And set his hope on high ! 

But still reflect that all the good 
Ye do, demands your gratitude, 

For 'tis a heav'nly boon. 
That should for its own sake be sought. 
Though to itself is kindly brought 

A blessing sweet and soon: 

It is reward to imitate. 
In comforting the desolate. 

That gracious one who stood 
A ransom for a ruin'd world. 
And still. Himself to ruin hurl'd. 

Found evil for His good : 

And what an argument for pray'r 
Hath yearning Mercy written there, 

For if indeed ''to give 
Is blessed rather than the gift" — 
Go ye, to heaven the voice uplift. 

And then ye must receive. 



322 A CABINET or FOSSILS, 



Come, and behold with curious eye 

These records of a world gone by, 

These tell-tales of the youth of time, — 

When changes, sudden, vast, sublime, 

(From Chaos, and fair Order's birth, 

To the last flood that drown'd the earth, — ) 

Shatter'd the crust of this young world, 

Into the seas its mountains hurl'd, 

And upon boisterous surges strong 

Bore the broad ruins far along 

To pave old ocean's shingly bed. 

While bursting upwards in their stead 

The lowest granites towering rose 

To pierce the clouds with crested snows, 

Where future Apennine or Alp 

Bared to high heav'n its icy scalp. 

Look on these coins of kingdoms old, 
These medals of a broken mould : 
These corals in the green hill-side, 
These fruits and flowers beneath the tide, 
These struggling flies in amber found. 
These huge pine-forests underground. 
These flint sea-eggs, with curious bosses, 
These fibred ferns, and fruited mosses 
Lying as in water spread. 
And stone-struck by some Grorgon's head! 
The chambers of this graceful shell. 
So delicately form'd, — so well, 
None can declare what years have past 
Since life hath tenanted it last, 



A CABINET OF FOSSILS. 323 

What countless centuries have flown 
Since age hath made the shell a stone : 
Gaze with me on those jointed stems, 
A living plant of starry gems. 
And on that sea-flower, light and fair, 
AVhich shoots its leaves in agate there : 
Behold these giant ribs in stone 
Of mighty monsters, long unknown. 
That in some antemundane flood 
Wallow 'd on continents of mud, 
A lizard race, but well for man. 
Dead long before his day began. 
Monsters, through Providence extinct, 
That crocodiles to fishes link'd ; 
And shreds of other forms beside 
That sported in the yeasty tide. 
Or, flapping far with dragon-wing. 
On the slow tortoise wont to spring. 
Or, ambushM in the rushes rank, 
Watch'd the dull mammoth on the bank, 
Or loved the green and silent deep. 
Or on the coral-reef to sleep. 
Where many a rood, in passive strerigth, 
The scaly reptiles lay at length. 

For there are wonders, wondrous strange, 
To those who will through nature range, 
And use the mind, and clear the eye, 
And let instruction not pass by : 
There are deep thoughts of tranquil joy 
For those who thus their hearts employ. 
And trace the wise design that lurks 
In holy nature's meanest works, 
And by the torch of truth discern 
The happy lessons good men learn : 



y 



A CABINET OF FOSSILS. 

there are pleasures, sweet and new, 
To those who thus creation view, 
And, as on this wide world they look, 
Regard it as one mighty book, 
Inscribed within, before, behind. 
With workings of the Master-mind; 
Ray'd with that Wisdom, which excels 
In framing worlds, — or fretting shells, — 
FilFd with that Mercy, which delights 
In blessing mammoths, men, or mites, — • 
With silent deep Benevolence, 
With hidden mild Omnipotence, 
With order's everlasting laws. 
With seen effect, and secret cause. 
Justice and truth in all things rife. 
Filling the world with love and life, 
And teaching from creation round 
How good the God of all is found, 
His handiwork how vast, how kind. 
How prearranged by clearest mind, 
How glorious in His own estate. 
And in His smallest works how great! 



fmt ^mlm^. 



I. — PSALM I. 

Blest is the man who walketh not 

In sinners' evil ways; 
Nor with the wicked joins his lot, 

Nor gives the scorner praise : 



F I V E P S A L M S . 326 

But all his solace and delight 

Is in his Father's word, — 
His meditation day and night, 

The doctrine of the Lord. 

As some green tree near flowing streams 

That yields its timely fruit, 
Unblighted still his foliage seems, — 

He prospers, branch and root. 

Not so the ungodly; they are all 

Like chafiF before the blast; 
In the dread judgment they shall fall, 

And perish at the last : 

For the Lord loveth, and doth keep 

The good man day by day; 
But as for sinners. He shall sweep 

And scatter them away ! 



IL— PSx\LM XIX. 

Heaven declares its Maker's glory, 

And the firmament His might; 
Day to day the wondrous story 

Echoes on, and night to night; 
All is silence, yet Creation 

Knows and hears that voiceless speech 
Which to every tribe and nation 

Doth their Maker's glory teach. 

From his chamber bright in heaven 
Lo, the bridegroom of the earth 

Gladness by his smile hath given, 
And awakes the morn to mirth : 



28 



826 FIVE PSALMS. 

Not less full of life and pleasure 
Is G-od's truth nor less complete; 

'Tis more precious than all treasure, 
Than the honeycomb more sweet. 

It rejoices, heals, and teaches. 

Ever holy, just, and good; 
To the inmost feeling reaches, 

And leads up the heart to GoD : 
Warn'd by that, thy servant turneth 

To the path that tends to bliss; 
Yet, who all his faults discerneth? 

Cleanse me, if I err in this. 

Let not pride be ruler in me. 

But deliver, guide, forgive : 
Thus, corruption quench'd within me, 

I shall be upright and live. 
Let my words and meditation. 

Ever pleasing in Thy sight, 
Meet with gracious acceptation, 

My Eedeemer and my Might! 



III. — PSALM XX. 

G-OD in time of trouble hear thee, 

And the name of Jacob's Lord 
From His sanctuary near thee. 

Out of Zion help afford ; 
Crown thy sacrifice with fire, 

All thy gifts remember still. 
Grant thee all thy heart's desire. 

And thy choicest wish fulfil ! 



F I V E P S A L M S . 327 

We will joy in Thy salvation, 

And will set our banners high 
In our God! — Thy sui^plication 

Be aceomplish'd at thy cry. 
Now I know the Lord from heaven 

Saveth still His Christ from harm; 
Now to Him will strength be given 

By the might of His right arm. 

Some in chariots, some in horses, — 

We in God Jehovah trust; 
And while He our sure Kesource is, 

They are fallen in the dust: 
Save, Jehovah, save and hear us, 

King of glory, King of might ! 
When we call be ever near us, — 

Ever for Thy servants fight! 



lY. — PSALM LXXXY. 

Lord, Thou hast shower'd on Thy land 

Thy favourable grace; 
Thou hast brought home again the band 

Of Jacob's captive race : 
Thou hast forgiven Thy people's crimes 

And wash'd away their sin. 
From Thy fierce anger turn'd betimes, 

And rein'd Thy vengeance in ! 

Turn us, God that saveth us, — 

And bid Thine anger cease : 
Wilt Thou in wrath be ever thus. 

Nor smile on us in peace'/ 
O wilt Thou not Thy work revive, 

That wc may joy in Thee? 
Yea, Lord, Thy constant mercy give, 

And Thy salvation free ! 



828 F I V E P S A L M S . 



v. — PSALM CXLIV. 



Blessed be the Lord my might, 
Who hath taught my soul to fight, 
Castle, Saviour, hope, and friend, 
Whom I trust all help to send. 

Lord, what is man, or what his son, 
That thou regardest such an one? 
A thing of nought : his little day 
Passeth shadow-like away. 

Bow Thy heavens. Lord ! return. 
Touch the mountains that they burn, 
Forth Thy scathing lightnings cast. 
With Thy shafts consume them fast! 

Send Thy power from on high, 
Rescue me, for ever nigh. 
Save me from the drowning wave, 
Prom these wicked children save ! 

God, to Thee new songs I sing. 
On my lute new praise I bring, — 
To kings Thou givest victory. Lord, 
And savest David from the sword. 

Help, and save me from the hand 
Of children, strangers in the land; 
For their mouths are lies within. 
And their right hands red with sin. 

That our sons may grow in good 
Like young saplings of the wood, 
And our daughters may be seen 
As Thy temple pure and clean : 



F I V E P S A L M S 329 

That our garners more and more 
May be full with various store, 
That our teeming sheep may yield 
Thousand-fold in street and field: 

That our oxen's sturdy toil 
Drain the treasures of the soil; 
None in bonds be led away, 
No complaining, no decay. 

Happy people ! prospered so, 
Blest beyond all bliss below ; 
Blest who have, all gods above. 
For theii' God the Lord of love ! 



€IiB 3Sniirnrr rnmfnrtBi. 1833. 

Brother, dear brother, weep no more for me ! 
My lot is blessedness, — an heritage 
Of Praise, and Peace, and Immortality, 
And Joy unspeakable ! above me smiles 
The Eye of tenderest love, and underneath 
Sustain me safe the Everlasting Arms ! 
/ am not dead, — my spirit is not dead, 
But rests in Jesus, the dear hiding-place 
Of ransom'd happy souls, — for I am His; — 
My God hath wiped all sorrow from mine eye. 
All sin from my fair soul; Eternal Love 
For pain hath given me Peace, — for fear, fixt hope, 
For Life's deceitful cup of bitterness. 
Rivers of pleasantness and seas of joy. 
Ah, who can speak it, who can think it, there, — 
28* 



330 THE MOURNER COMFORTED. 

Where the frail prison of Mortality 

Holds pent the slumbering soul? Earth hath no words, 

And earthborn no ideas of infinite, 

Unutterable, overwhelming bliss. 

blest exchange ! gain beyond compare ! 

Griory, brighter for the foil of Time, 

deepest happiness, more exquisite 

For a short Life's remember'd tale of sorrow ! 
Weep not, dear brother, — weep no more for me. 

Yes, — from the dream of Time I woke in peace: 
And one fierce struggle over, all was calm. 
Awhile I lay entranced, — in that sweet rest 
The Sabbath of the Soul, e'er yet it speeds 
To choirs of perfect praise, and bliss intense. 
And soon two infant cherubs on bright wings 
— My sainted little brothers, — flew to me, 
Kiss'd me, and wept for joy, as angels weep. 
"For it is ours,'' they said, "our great reward. 
By His dear will preferr'd before all others. 
On either hand to lead thee to our God." 
Wing'd with ecstatic hope upsprung my Soul, — 
And through the glorious hosts of happy ones. 
From bliss to bliss, from heav'n to heav'n, upsprung, 
Catching swift echoes of melodious praise. 
Till at the rapturous height of highest joy 

1 stood before the Throne ! and there was He, 
He, whom a brother's counsel bade me seek. 
He, whom at midnight's hour a mother's ear 
With tears and prayers had often heard me seek, — 

there was He ! my Saviour and my Friend, — 
My Sacrifice, my Heav'n, my All, my God ! 

— Brother, in earthly words and earthly thoughts 

1 cannot tell thee more : but would speak peace, 
Peace to thy troubled soul, — where peace there is. 
O climax to my joys, — strength to your hopes, 



THE M O U R N E R C M F () R T E D . 331 

In the bright book of Life are written fair 

The names of those I loved ! Blest family, 

Children of hope, and Heaven, and God ! His love 

With tears of chastened grief hath gemm'd your crowns, 

That, by a Father's wisdom mingling well 

Life's cup with sorrows, ye may deeper drink 

Of grace on earth, of glory with our GrOD. 

Yes, there are crowns and mansions for you all, 

Ye loved, and happy ones ! a crown for thee, 

Dear mother, who so tenderly hast led 

Our infant steps to paths of pleasantness; — 

Crowns for you both, my sisters; — and for thee, 

Whom the dark storm of unbelieving fears 

Hath sorely tost, — my brother, — even for thee 

From deeper trouble rises higher bliss ! 

Peace to you all, for Jesus is your peace, 

Your peace and mine ; be comforted with me. 

For w^e are one, as ever, one in Him. 

Though now ye see me not, I can see you; 
Though ye hear not my praise, your groans I hear. 
I watch'd, unwatch'd, and long'd to wipe away 
The bitter tears that fell to weep my gain : 
I watch'd, when on my prison-house of lead. 
That held the alter'd form ye lately loved, 
A mother's fondness wildly prest a kiss; 
I watch'd the friend approved, on whom she leant; 
And to their mournful homes in cot or hall 
I watch'd the dark procession silent creep. 
Then was I with you, and am with you still, 
A free, unshackled spirit, — loving you. 
And ministering grace to you from God ! 
Think not of what I was, but what I am, — 
Gaze not on those "dear lineaments defaced," 
Nor brood on foul corruption's gloomy pit : 



THE MOURNER COMFORTED. 

Rather look up ; — I live ! — speed, blest hour, 
When to the spirit made perfect the bright body, 
Bursting the bars of Death, shall reunite, 
And meet the King of Glory in the skies ! 



€llB §mh nf %m\m, 1832. 

Incertus erro per loca devia." — HoR. 

Are these then made in vain? is man alone 

Of all the marvels of creative love 

Blest with a scintillation of His essence, 

The heavenly spark of reasonable soul? 

And hath not yon sagacious dog, that finds 

A meaning in the shepherd's idiot face, 

Or the huge elephant that lends his strength 

To drag the stranded galley to the shore, 

And strives with emulative pride to excel 

The mindless crowd of slaves that toil beside him, 

Or the young generous war-horse, when he sniffs 

The distant field of blood, and quick and shrill 

Neighing for joy, instils a desperate courage 

Into the veteran trooper's quailing heart, — 

Have they not all an evidence of soul 

(Of soul, the proper attribute of man,) 

The same in kind, though meaner in degree? 

Why should not that which hath been, — be for ever? 

And death, — can it be annihilation ? 

No, — though the stolid atheist fondly clings 

To that last hope, how kindred to despair ! 

No, — 'tis the struggling spirit's hour of joy, 

The glad emancipation of the soul, 



THE SOULS OF BRUTES. 338 

The moment when the cumbrous fetters drop, 
And the bright spirit wings its Wcay to heaven ! 
To say that God annihilated aught 
"Were to declare that in an unwise hour 
He plann'd and made somewhat superfluous : 
Why should not the mysterious life, that dwells 
In reptiles as in men, and shows itself 
In memory, gratitude, love, hate, and pride, 
Still energize, and be, though death may crush 
Yon frugal ant, or thoughtless butterfly. 
Or with the simoon's pestilential gale 
Strike down the patient camel in the desert? 

There is one chain of intellectual soul, 
In many links and various grades, throughout 
The scale of nature; from the climax bright 
The first great Cause of all. Spirit supreme, 
Incomprehensible and unconfined, 
To high archangels blazing near the throne, 
Seraphim, cherubim, virtues, aids, and powers, 
All capable of perfection in their kind ; — 
To man, as holy from his Maker's hand 
He stood, in possible excellence complete, 
(Man, who is destined now to brighter glories, 
As nearer to the present God, in One 
His Lord and substitute, — than angels reach :) 
Then man as fall'n, with every varied shade 
Of character and capability, 
From him who reads his title to the skies. 
Or grasps with giant mind all nature's wonders, 
Down to the monster shaped in human form. 
Maniac, slavering fool, or blood-stain'd savage : 
Then to the prudent elephant, the dog 
Half-humanized, the docile Arab horse, 
The social beaver, and contriving fox. 



334 THE SOULS OP BRUTES. 

The parrot, quick in pertinent reply, 

The kind-affection' d seal, and patriot bee, 

The merchant-storing ant, and wintering swallow, 

With all those other palpable emanations 

And energies of one eternal Mind 

Pervading and instructing all that live, 

Down to the sentient grass, and shrinking clay. 

In truth, I see not why the breath of life, 

Thus omnipresent and upholding all, 

Should not return to Him, and be immortal, 

(I dare not say the same) in some glad state 

Originally destined for creation, 

As well from brutish bodies, as from man. 

The uncertain glimmer of analogy 

Suggests the thought, and reason's shrewder guess; 

Yet revelation whispers nought but this, 

*^Our Father careth when a sparrow dies,'* 

And that "the spirit of a brute descends'* 

As to some secret and preserving Hades. 

But for some better life, in what strange sort 

Were justice, mix'd with mercy, dealt to these? — 

Innocent slaves of sordid guilty man. 

Poor unthank'd drudges, toiling at his will, 

Pamper'd in youth, and haply starved in age. 

Obedient, faithful, gentle, — though the spur 

Wantonly cruel, or unsparing thong 

Weal your gall'd hides, or your strain'd sinews crack 

Beneath the crushing load, — what recompense 

Can He, who gave you being, render you 

If in the rank full harvest of your griefs 

Ye sink annihilated, to the shame 

Of government unequal ? — In that day 

When crime is sentenced, shall the cruel heart 

Boast uncondemn'd, because no tortured brute 



THE SOULS OF BRUTES. 

Stands there accusing? shall the embodied deeds 

Of man not follow him, nor the rescued fly 

Bear its kind witness to the saving hand ? 

Shall the mild Brahmin stand in equal sin 

Regarding nature's menials, with the wretch 

Who flays the moaning Abyssinian ox, 

Or roasts the living bird, or flogs to death 

The famishing pointer? — and must these again, 

These poor unguilty uncomplaining victims 

Have no reward for life with its sharp pains? — 

They have my suffrage : Nineveh was spared. 

Though Jonah prophesied its doom, for sake 

Of six-score thousand infants, and "much cattle;" 

And space is wide enough, for every grain 

Of the broad sands that curb our swelling seas 

Each separate in its sphere to stand apart 

As far as sun from sun : there lacks not room, 

Nor time, nor care, where all is infinite : 

And still I doubt : it is a Gordian knot, 

A dark deep riddle, rich with curious thoughts; 

Yet let me tell a trivial incident, 

And draw thine own conclusion from my tale. 

Paris kept holiday; a merrier sight 

The crowded Champs Elysees never saw : 

Loud pealing laughter, songs, and flageolets, 

And giddy dances round the shadowing elms. 

Green vistas thronged with thoughtless multitudes, 

Traitorous processions, frivolous pursuits. 

And pleasures full of sin, — the loud " hurra I" 

And' fierce enthusiastic "Vive la nation!" — 

Were these thy ways and works, godlike man, 

IMonopolist of mind, great patentee 

Of truth, and sense, and reasonable soul? — 

My heart was sick with gaiety; nor less, 



336 T H E S IJ L S O F B R U T E S . 

When (sad, sad contrast to the sensual scene) 

I mark'd a single hearse through the dense crowd 

Move on its noiseless melancholy way: 

The blazing sun half quench' d it with his beams, 

And show'd it but more sorrowful : I gazed 

And gazed with wonder that no feeling heart, 

No solitary Man follow'd to note 

The spot where poor mortality must sleep : 

Alas ! it was a friendless child of sorrow, 

That stole unheeded to the house of Death ! 

My heart beat strong with sympathy, and loathed 

The noisy follies that were buzzing round me. 

And I resolved to watch him to his grave, 

And give a man his fellow-sinner's tear: 

I left the laughing crowd, and quickly gain'd 

That dreary hearse, and found, — he was not friendless ! 

Yes, there was one, one only, faithful found 

To that forgotten wanderer, — his dog ! 

And there, with measured step, and drooping head. 

And tearful eye, paced on the stricken mourner. 

Yes, I remember how my bosom ached 

To see its sensible face look up to mine 

As in confiding sympathy, — and howl : 

Yes, I can never forget what grief unfeigned, 

What true love, and unselfish gratitude, 

That poor, bereaved, and soulless dog betray'd. 

Ah, give me, give me such a friend, I cried; 

Yon myriad fools and knaves in human guise 

Compared with thee, poor cur, are vain and worthless, 

While man, who claims a soul exclusively. 

Is shamed by yonder "mere machine," — a dog! 

" Eqiiidem credo quia sit Divinitus illis ingenium." — Vma. 



T H E C II A M O I S H U N T E R . 387 



€'tn! €\}mm JiultL 1829. 

A LESSON" OF LIFE. 

The scene was bathed in beauty rare, 
For Alpine grandeur toppled there, 

With emerald spots between; 
A summer-evening's blush of rose 
All faintly warm'd the crested snows 

And tinged the valleys green; 



Night gloom'd apace, and dark on. high 
The thousand banners of the sky 

Their awful width unfurl'd, 
Veiling Mont Blanc's majestic brow, 
That seem'd among its cloud-wrapt snow, 

The ghost of some dead world : 

"When Pierre the hunter cheerly went 
To scale the Catton's battlement 

Before the peep of day; 
He took his rifle, pole, and rope. 
His heart and eyes alight with hope. 

He hasted on his way. 

He cross'd the vale, he hurried on. 
He forded the cold Arveron, 

The first rough terrace gain'd. 
Threaded the fir-wood's gloomy belt. 
And trod the snows that never melt. 

And to the summit strain'd. 
29 



388 THE CHAMOIS HUNTER. 

Over the top, as he knew well, 
Beyond the glacier in the dell 

A herd of chamois slept, 
So down the other dreary side, 
With cautious tread, or careless slide, 

He bounded, or he crept. 

And now he nears the chasmed ice; 
He stoops to leap, — and in a trice. 

His foot hath slipp'd, — heaven! 
He hath leapt in, and down he falls 
Between those blue tremendous walls, 

Standing asunder riven ! 

But quick his clutching nervous grasp 
Contrives a jutting crag to clasp. 

And thus he hangs in air; — 
O moment of exulting bliss ! 
Yet hope so nearly hopeless is 

Twin-brother to despair. 

He look'd beneath, — a horrible doom ! 
Some thousand yards of deepening gloom. 

Where he must drop to die ! 
He look'd above, and many a rood 
Upright the frozen ramparts stood 

Around a speck of sky. 

Seven long dreadful hours he hung, 
And often by strong breezes swung 

His fainting body twists; 
Scarce can he cling one moment more, 
His half-dead hands are ice, and sore 

His burning bursting wrists; 



THE CHAMOIS HUNTER. 389 

His head grows dizzy, — he must drop, 
He half resolves, — but stop, stop, 

Hold on to the last spasm, 
Never in life give up your hope, — 
Behold, behold a friendly rope 

Is dropping down the chasm ! 

They call thee, Pierre, — see, see them here, 
Thy gather'd neighbours far and near, 

Courage! man, hold on fast: — 
And so from out that terrible place. 
With death's pale paint upon his face, 

They drew him up at last. 

And he came home an alter'd man. 
For many harrowing terrors ran 

Through his poor heart that day; 
He thought how all through life, though young, 
Upon a thread, a hair, he hung. 

Over a gulf midway : 

He thought what fear it were to fall 
Into the pit that swallows all, 

Unwing'd with hope and love; 
And when the succour came at last, 
O then he learnt how firm and fast 

"Was his best Friend above. 



340 REPROOF. 



lUprnni 



Be ashamed for your reserve, 
Be ashamed; — 
It is not what I deserve, 

Be ashamed; — 
By my heart, and by mind 
Willing, warm, and well-inclined, 
Let your greeting be more kind, — 
Be ashamed. 

Be assured it's little wise. 
Be assured, — 

So to chill your hand and eyes, 
Be assured, — 

My humility can wait. 

But your love may come too late. 

Pride will soon be out of date,^ 
Be assured. 



€)^ afrirnn ^tmt 

A Newdigate in 1830. 

G-0, child of pity, watch the sullen glare 
That lights the haggard features of despair 
As upon dying guilt's distracted sight 
Rise the black clouds of everlasting night; 
Drink in the fever'd eyeball's dismal ray. 
And gaze again, — and turn not yet away, 



T H E A F R I C A N D E S E R T . 341 

Drink in its anguish, till thy heart and eye 
Reel ivith the draught of that sad lethargy : 
Till Gloom with chilling fears thy soul congeal, 
And on thy bosom stamp his leaden seal, 
Till Melancholy flap her heavy wings 
Above thy fancy's light imaginings, 
And Sorrow wrap thee in her sable shroud, 
And Terror in a gathering thunder-cloud ! 

Go, call up Darkness from his dread abode, 

Bid Desolation fling her curse abroad, 

— Then gaze around on nature! — ah, how drear, 

How widow-like she sits in sadness here : 

Lost are the glowing tints, the softening shades. 

Her sunny meadows, and her greenwood glades; 

No grateful flower has gemm'd its mother-earth. 

Rejoicing in the blessedness of birth; 

No blitheseme lark has waked the drowsy day. 

No sorrowing dews have wept themselves away: 

Faded, — the smiles that dimpled in her vales; 

Scatter'd, the fragrance of the spicy gales 

That dew'd her locks with odours, as they swept 

The waving groves, or in the rose-bud slept 

Is this the desert? this the blighted plain 
Where Silence holds her melancholy reign, — 
Where foot of daring mortal scarce hath trod. 
Rut all around is solitude — and God, — 
And where the sandy billows overwhelm 
All but young Fancy's visionary realm, 
In which, beneath the red moon's sickly glance 
Fantastic forms prolong the midnight dance, 
And pigmy warriors, marshall'd on the plains. 
Shout high defiance to the invading cranes? 
29* 



842 THE AFRICAN DESERT. 

Regions of sorrow, — darkly have ye frown'd 

Amidst a sunny world of smiles around : 

Luxurious Persia, bower'd in rosy bloom, 

Breathes the sweet air of Araby's perfume, 

And where Italian suns in glory shine 

To the green olive clings the tendril!' d vine; 

In yon soft bosom of Iberia's vales 

The orange-blossom scents the lingering gales, 

That waft its sweets to where Madeira's plain 

With emerald beauty gems the western main : 

The winds that o'er the rough ^gaen sweep, 

Tamed into zephyrs, on its islands sleep ; 

And where rich Delta drinks the swelling Nile, 

Auspicious Ceres spreads her golden smile. 

But on Sahara death has set his throne. 

And reigns in sullen majesty alone : 

Unfurl'd on high above the desert-king 

The red simoom spreads forth its fiery wing; 

The spirits of the storm his bidding wait, 

Gigantic shadows swell his awful state, 

And circling furies hover round his head, 

To crown with flames the Tyrant of the Dead ! 

The desert shrank beneath him, as he pass'd, 

Borne on the burning pinions of the blast; 

He breathed, — and solitude sat pining there; 

He spake, — and silence hush'd the listening air; 

He frown'd, — and blighted Nature scarce could fly 

The lightning glances of her monarch's eye. 

But where he look'd in withering fury down, 

A dying desert knit its giant frown ! 

Desolate wilds, — creation's barren grave. 
Where dull as Lethe rolls the desert wave. 
How sparingly with warm existence rife 
Have ye rejoiced in love, or teeni'd with life ! 



.THE AFRICAN DESERT; 343 

Can it then be in. solitudes so drear, 



That utter. Nothing has its dwelling here ? — 

Hence, — thought of darkness ! — o'er the sandy flood 

Broods the great Spirit of a present God : 

He is, where other being may not be; 

Space cannot bind Him, — nor infinity ! 

Deeper than thought has ever dared to stray, 

Higher than fancy wing'd her wondering way. 

Beyond the beaming of the furthest star. 

Beyond the pilgrim-comet's distant car. 

Beyond all worlds, and glorious suns unseen. 

He is, and will be, and has ever been ! 

Nor less, — where the huge iceberg lifts its head, 

Dim as a dream, from ocean's polar bed; 

Or where in softer climes creation glows. 

And Paphos blushes from its banks of rose, 

Or where^^erce suns the panting desert sear, — 

He is, and was, and ever will be, here ! 

But would thy daring spirit, child of man. 
The secret chambers of the desert scan, 
Curtain'd with flames, and tenanted by death, 
Fanned by the tempest of Sirocco's breath? 
With crested Azrael shall a mortal strive. 
Or breathe the gales of pestilence, and live? 
then, let avarice his hand refrain. 
Nor tempt the billows of that fiery main, 
Let patience, toil, and courage nobly dare 
Far other deeds than fruitless labours there. 
Let dauntless enterprise, with generous zeal. 
Toil, not unlaurell'd, for her fellows' weal, 
But be the howling wilderness untrod. 
And trackless still, Sahara's barren flood! 

Lo, from the streaming east a blaze of light 
Has swept to distant shores astonish'd night, 



344 THE AFRICAN DESERT. 

Darkness has snatch'd his spangled robe away, 

And in fidl glory shines the new-born day; 

Rejoice, ye flowery vales, — ye verdant isles 

With the glad sunbeams weave your rosy smiles, 

The bridegroom of the earth looks down in love, 

And blooms in freshen'd beauty from above; 

Ye waiting dews, leap to that warm embrace, 

With fragrant incense bathe his blushing face. 

Thou earth, be robed in joy! — But one sad plain 

Exults not, smiles not, to the morn again : 

Soon as the sun is all in glory drest 

The conscious desert heaves its troubled breast. 

Like one, aroused to ceaseless misery. 

That, ever dying, strives once more — to die. 

And can Sahara weep ? with sudden blaze 

Deep in her bosom pierce the cruel rays. 

But never thence one tributary stream 

Shall soar aloft to quench the maddening beam: 

Tearless in agony, fixt in grief, alone, 

Pines the sad daughter of the torrid zone, 

A rocky monument of anguish deep. 

The Niobe of Nature cannot weep I 

Yet from her bosom steams the sandy cloud. 

And heavily waves above ; — a lurid shroud. 

Dense as the wing of sorrow, flapping o'er 

The wither'd heart, that may not blossom more. 

Faint o'er that burning desert, faint and slow. 
Failing of limb, and pale with looks of woe. 
Parch' d by the hot Siroc, and fiery ray. 
The wearied kaffl^ winds its toilsome way. 
'Tis long, long since the panther bounded by, 
And howl'd, and gazed upon them wistfully; 
Long since the monarch lion from his lair 
Arose, and thunder'd to the stagnant air: 



.THE AFRICAN DESERT. 345 

No wandering ostrich with extended wing 
Flaps o'er the sands, to seek the distant spring* 
Bounding from rock to rock, with curious scan 
No wild gazelle . surveys .the stranger, man ; 
Nor does the famish'd tiger's lengthening roar 
Speak to the winds and wake' the echoes more. 

But o'er these realms of sorrow, drear and vast, 

In hollow dirges moans the desert blast. 

Or breathing o'er the plain in smother'd wrath 

Howls to the skulls, that whiten on the path. 

And as with heavy tramp they toil along, 

Is heard no more ^he cheering Arab song, — 

No more the wild Bedouin's joyous shriek 

With startling homage greets his wandering shriek, 

Only the mutter'd curse, or whisper'd pray'r, 

Or deep death-rattle wakes the sluggish air. 

Behold one here, who till to-day has been 

A father, and with bursting bosom seen 

His last, his cherish'd one, whose waning eye 

Smiled only resignation, droop and die ! 

Parch'd by the heat, those lips are curl'd and pale, 

As rose-leaves wither'd in the northern gale; 

Her eye no more its silent love shall speak, 

No flush of life shall mantle on her. cheek; — 

Yet with a frenzied fondness to his child 

The father clung, and thought his darling smiled; 

Ah, yes ! 't is death that o'er her beauty throws 

That marble smile of deep and dread repose. 

What thrilling shouts are these that rend the sky, 
Whence is the joy that lights the sunken eye? 
On, on, they speed their burning thirst to slake 
In the blue waters of yon rippled lake, — 



346 THEAFRICANDESERT. 

Or must they still those maddening pangs assuage 
In the sand-billows of the false mirage ? 
Lo, the fair phantom, melting to the wind, 
Leaves but the sting of baffled bliss behind. 

Hope smiles again, as with instinctive haste 

The panting camels rush along the waste. 

And snuff the grateful breeze, that sweeping by 

Wafts its cool fragrance through the cloudless sky. 

Swift as the steed that feels the slacken 'd rein 

And flies impetuous o'er the sounding plain, 

Eager as bursting from an Alpine source 

The winter torrent in its headlong ^course. 

Still hasting on, the wearied band behold 

— The green oase, an emerald couch'd in gold ! 

And now the curving rivulet they descry. 

That bow of hope upon a stormy sky. 

Now ranging its luxuriant banks of green 

In silent rapture gaze upon the scene : 

His graceful arms the palm was waving there 

Caught in the tall acacia's tangled hair. 

While in festoons across his branches slung 

The gay kossdm its scarlet tassels hung; 

The flowering colocynth had studded round 

Jewels of promise o'er the joyful ground, 

And w^here the smile of day burst on the stream, 

The trembling waters glitter'd in the beam. 

It comes, the blast of death ! that sudden glare 
Tinges with purple hues the stagnant air; 
Fearful in silence, o'er the heaving strand 
Sweeps the wild gale, and licks the curling sand, 
While o'er the vast Sahara from afar 
Rushes the tempest in his winged car: 
Swift from their bed the flame-like billows rise, 
Whirling and surging to the copper skies. 



THEAFRIC AN DESERT. 347 

As when Briarciis lifts his hundred arms, 
Grasps at high heaven, and fills it with alarms; 
In eddying chaos madly mixt on high 
Gigantic pillars dance along the sky, 
Or stalk in awful slowness through the gloom, 
Or track the coursers of the dread simoom. 
Or clashing in mid air, to ruin hurl'd. 
Fall as the fragments of a shatter 'd world ! 

Hush'd is the tempest, — desolate the plain, 
Stiird are the billows of that troublous main ; 
As if the voice of death had check' d the storm, 
Each sandy wave retains its sculptured form : 
And all is silence, — save the distant blast 
That howl'd, and mock'd the desert as it pass'd; 
And all is solitude, — for where are they, 
That o'er Sahara wound their toilsome way ? 
Ask of the heav'ns above, that smile serene. 
Ask that burnt spot, no more of lovely green. 
Ask of the whirlwind in its purple cloud. 
The desert is their grave, the sand their shroud. 



A Newdigate IX 1831. 

GOLDEN shores, primeval home of man. 
How glorious is thy dwelling, Hindostan ! 
Thine are these smiling valleys, bright with bloom. 
Wild woods, and sandal-groves, that breathe perfume, 
Thine, these fair skies, — where morn's returning ray 
Has swept the starry robe of night away. 
And gilt each dome, and minaret, and tower, 
Gemm'd every stream, and tinted every flower. 



348 THESUTTEES. 

But dark the spirit within thee; — from old time 
Still o'er thee rolls the whelming flood of crime, 
Still o'er thee broods the curse of guiltless blood, 
That shouts for vengeance from thy reeking sod: 
Deep-flowing Ganges in his rushy bed 
Moans a sad requiem for his children dead, 
And, wafted frequent on the passing gale, 
Rises the orphan's sigh, — the widow's wail. 

Hark, His the rolling of the funeral drum. 

The white-robed Brahmins see, they come, they come, 

Bringing, with frantic shouts, and torch, and trump, 

And mingled signs of melancholy pomp. 

That livid corpse, borne solemnly on high — 

And yon faint trembling victim, doom'd to die I 

Still, as with measured step they move along, 
With fiercer joy they weave the mystic song : 
Eswara, crown'd with forests, thee they praise, 
Birmah, to thee the full-toned chorus raise; 
To Ocean, — where the loose sail mariners furl, 
And seek in coral caves the virgin pearl; 
And to the source of G-anga's sacred streams. 
Bright with the gold of Surya's morning beams, 
Where on her lotus-throne Varuna sings, 
And weeping Peris lave their azure wings : 
They shout to Kali, of the red right hand, 
Bid Aglys toss on high the kindled brand. 
And far from Himalaya's frozen steep. 
In whirlwind-car bid dark Pavaneh sweep: 
They chant of one whom Azrael waits to guide 
O'er the black gulf of death's unfathom'd tide ; 
Of her, whose spotless life to Seeva giv'n. 
Bursts for her lord the golden gates of heav'n. 
Of her, — who thus in dreadful triumph led. 
Dares the unhallowed bridal of the dead! 



THESUTTEES. 349 

And there in silent fear she stands alone. 



The desolate, unpiticd, widow'd one : 

Too deeply taught in life's sad tale of grief, 

In the calm house of death she hopes relief. 

For few the pleasures India's daughter knows, 

A child of sorrow, nursed in want and woes. 

Cursed from the womb, how oft a mother's fear 

In silence o'er thee dropt the bitter tear. 

Lest a stern sire to Ganga's holy wave 

Should madly consecrate the life he gave : 

Cradled on superstition's sable wing 

In joyless gloom pass'd childhood's early spring, 

And still, as budded fair thy youthful mind. 

None bade thee seek, none taught thee, truth to find: 

Poor child ! that never raised the suppliant pray'r, 

Nor look'd to heaven, and saw a Father there, 

Untutor'd by religion's gentle sway 

To love, believe, be happy, and obey. 

Betroth' d in artless infancy to one 

Thy warm affections never beam'd upon. 

How shouldst thou smile, when ripe in beauty's pride 

The haughty Rajah claim'd his destined bride'? 

A trembling slave, and not the loving wife, 

Pass'd the short summer of thy hapless life; 

And now to deck that bier, that pile to crown, 

His fiery sepulchre becomes — thine own. 

And must it be, that in a spot so fair 
Shall rise the madden'd shriek of wild despair? 
This lovely spot, where glows in every part 
The smile of nature on the pomp of art; 
The banian spreads its hospitable shade. 
The bright bird warbles in the leafy glade, 
The matted palm, and wild anana's bloom, 
The light pagoda, the majestic dome, 
30 



350 THE SUTTEES. 

With emerald plains, and ocean's distant blue, 
Cast their rich tints and shadows o'er the view. 
But murder here must wash his bloody hand, 
And superstition shake the flaming brand, 
And terror cast around an eager eye 
To look for one to save, — where none is nigh! 
Far other incense than the breath of day 
From that dark corpse must waft the soul away, 
Far other moans than of the muffled drum 
Herald the lingering spirit to its home : 
Yes, — thou must perish; and that gentle frame 
Must struggle frantic with the circling flame, 
Constant in weal or woe, for death, for life. 
The victim widow, as the victim wife. 

Hoping, despairing, — friendless, and forlorn. 

The death she may not fly, she strives to scorn : 

Lists to the tale that bright-wing' d Peris wait 

To waft her to Kalaisa's crystal gate, — 

Thinks how her car of fire shall speed along, 

HaiFd by high praises, and Kinnura's song, — 

And upward gazing in a speechless trance. 

Darts earnestly the keen ecstatic glance. 

Till wrapt imagination cleaves the sky. 

And hope delusive points the way, — to die. 

Who hath not felt, in some celestial hour. 

When fear's dark thunder-clouds have ceased to lour, 

When angels beckon on the fluttering soul 

To realms of bliss beyond her mortal goal. 

When heavenly glories bursting on the sight. 

The raptured spirit bathes in seas of light. 

And soars aloft upon the seraph's wing, — 

How boldly she can brave death's tyrant sting? 

Thus the poor girl's enthusiastic mind 

Revels in hope of blessings undefined, 



T H E S U T T E E S . 351 

Roams o'er the flowers of earth, the joys of sense, 

And frames her paradise of glory thence : 

For oft as memory's retrospective eye 

Glanced at the blighted joys of days gone by. 

How sadly sweet appear' d those smiling hours 

When hope had strew'd life's thorny path with flow'rs, 

How dark, and shadow'd o'er with fearful gloom, 

The unimagined horrors of the tomb ! 

When she remember'd all her joy and pain, 

And in a moment lived her life again. 

Each sorrow seem'd to smile, that frown' d before, — 

Her cup of blessing then was running o'er, — 

Days past in grief, beam'd now in hues of bliss, 

Fancy gilt them, — ^^but terror clouded this! 

Yet swift her spirit, resolutely proud, 

ScomM every hope, by mercy disallow'd : 

The priests have long invoked their idol god. 

The murd'rous pile, his altar, thirsts for blood, — 

A horrid silence summons to the grave. 

All wait for her, — and none stands forth to save, 

shall she tremble now, nor die the same ; — 

^hall she not fearless rush into the flame ? 

From her dark eye she strikes the rising tear, 

And firmly mounts the pile — a widow's bier. 

Instant, with furious zeal and willing hands, 
Attendant Brahmins ply the ready brands; 
And as the flames are raging fierce and high, 
And mount in rushing columns to the sky. 
Lest those wild shrieks, or pity's soft appeal. 
Should rouse one hand to save, one heart to feel. 
Madly exulting in their victim's doom 
They heap with fiendish haste her fiery tomb, — 
Clash the loud cymbals, wake the trumpet's note, 
EoU *;he deep drum, and raise the deafening shout, 



352 THE SUTTEES. 

Till in dread discord through the startled air 
Kise the mixt yells of triumph and despair ! 

Britain, whose pitying hand is stretch'd to save 

From despot's iron chain the writhing slave; 

Where freedom's sons, at wild oppression's shriek 

Feel the hot tear bedew the manly cheek, — 

Where the kind sympathies of social life 

Sweeten the cup to one no more a wife, 

Where misery never pray'd nor sigh'd in vain, — 

Shall India's widow'd daughters bleed again? 

Let wreaths more glorious deck Britannia's head 

Than theirs, who fiercely fought, or nobly bled. 

Wreaths such as happy spirits wear above, 

Gemm d with the tears of gratitude and love. 

Where palm and olive, twined with almond bloom. 

Tell of triumphant peace and mercy's rich perfume. 

And ye, whose young and kindling hearts can feel 

The pray'r of pity fan the flame of zeal. 

Trace the blest path illustrious Heber trod. 

And lead the poor idolator to God ! 

Thus, in that happy land, where nature's voice 

Sings at her toil, and bids the world rejoice. 

No guiltless blood her paradise shall stain, 

No demon rites her holy courts profane. 

No howl of superstition rend the air, 

No widow's cry, no orphan's tear, be there, — 

India shall cast her idol gods away. 

And bless the promise of undying day. 



CHEERFULNESS. 353 



CONTRASTED SONNETS. 



AX IXVOCATIOX. 

Come to my heart of hearts, thou radiant face ! 

So shall I gaze for ever on thy fairness; 
Thine eyes are smiling stars, and holy grace 

Blossoms thy cheek with its exotic rareness, 
Trellissing it with jasmin-woven lace : 

Come, laughing maid, — yet in thy laughter calm, 
Be this thy home. 
Fair cherub, come. 

Solace my days with thy luxurious balm. 
And hover o'er my nightly couch, sweet dove, 
So shall I live in joy, by living in thy love! 



A DEPRECATION. 

White Devil ! turn from me thy louring eye, 
Let thy lean lip unlearn its bitter smile, 

Down thine own throat I force its still-born lie, 
And teach thee to digest it in thy bile, — 
But I will merrily mock at thee the while: 
30* 



354 MALICE. 

Such venom cannot harm me ; for I sit 

On a fair hill of name, and power, and purse, 
Too high for any shaft of tUine to hit, 

Beyond the petty reaching of thy curse, 
Strong in good purpose, praise, and pregnant wit: 
Husband thy hate for toads of thine own level, 

I breathe an atmosphere too rare for thee : 
Back to thy trencher at the witches' revel. 
Too long they wait thy goodly company : 
Yet know thou this, — I'll crush thee, sorry devil, 
If ever again thou wag thy tongue at me. 



I STRAYED at evening to a sylvan scene 

Dimpling with nature's smile the stern old mountain, 
A shady dingle, quiet, cool, and green. 

Where the moss'd rock pour'd forth its natural fountain 
And hazels cluster'd there, with fern between. 

And feathery meadow-sweet shed perfume round. 

And the pink crocus pierc'd the jewell'd ground; 

Then was I calm and happy: for the voice 
Of nightingales unseen in tremulous lays 

Taught me with innocent gladness to rejoice, 
And tuned my spirit to unformal praise : 
So, among silver'd moths, and closing flowers, 

G-ambolling hares, and rooks returning home. 

And strong-wing' d chafers setting out to roam, 
In careless peace I pass'd the soothing hours. 



ART. 355 



art. 



The massy fane of architecture olden, 
Or fretted minarets of marble white, 

Or Moorish arabesque, begemm'd and golden, 
Or porcelain pagoda, tipp'd with light. 
Or high-spanned arches, — were a noble sight: 

Nor less yon gallant ship, that treads the waves 
In a triumphant silence of delight. 

Like some huge swan, with her fair wings unfurl'd, 
Whose curved sides the laughing water laves. 

Bearing it buoyant o'er the liquid world: 
Nor less yon silken monster of the sky 

Around whose wicker car the clouds are curlM, 
Helping undaunted man to scale on high 
Nearer the sun than eagles dare to fly; — 
Thy trophies these, — still but a modest part 
Of thy grand conquests, wonder-working Art! 



NAME for comfort, refuge, hope, and peace, 
spot by gratitude and memory blest ! 

"Where, as in brighter worlds, "the wicked cease 
From troubling, and the weary are at rest," 
And unfledged loves and graces have their nest; 



356 T H E W R E T C H E D H M E . 

How brightly here the various virtues shine, 
And nothing said or done is seen amiss; 

While sweet affections every heart entwine, 
And differing tastes and talents all unite, 
Like hues prismatic blending into white, 

In charity to man, and love divine : 
Thou little kingdom of serene delight, 

Heaven's nursery and foretaste ! O what bliss 

Where earth to wearied men can give a home like this! 



Scene of disunion, bickering, and strife, 

What curse has made thy native blessings die ? 
Why do these broils embitter daily life. 

And cold self-interest form the strongest tie? 

Hate, ill conceal' d, is flashing from the eye, 
And mutter'd vengeance curls the pallid lip; 

What should be harmony is all at jar; — 
Doubt and reserve love's timid blossoms nip. 

And weaken nature's bends to ropes of sand; 

While dull indifference takes the icy hand 
(Oh dhilling touch !) — of constrain'd fellowship : 

What secret demon has such discord fann'd? 
What ill committed stirs this penal war, — 
Or what omitted good? — Alas! that such things are. 



THEORY. 867 

How fair and facile seems that upland road ! 

Surely the mountain air is fresh and sweet, 
And briskly shall I bear this mortal load 

With well-braced sinews, and unweary feet; 

How dear my fellow-pilgrims oft to meet 
O'ertaken, as to reach yon blest abode 

We strive together, in glad hope to greet, 
With angel friends and our approving God, 

All that in life we once have loved so well. 
So what we loved be worthy : her bright wings 
My willing spirit plumes, and upward springs 

Rejoicing, over crag, and fen, and fell. 
And down, or up, the cliffs precipitous face, 

To run or fly her buoyant happy race! 



This body, — the body of this death! 

Strive as thou wilt, do all that mortal can, 

This is the sum, a man is but a man. 
And weak in error strangely wandereth 

Down flowery lanes, with pain and peril fraught, 

Conscious of what he doth, and what he ought. 
Alas, — but wherefore? — scarce my plaintive breath 

Wafts its faint question to the listening sky. 
When thus in answer some kind spirit saith : 

"Man, thou art mean, although thy aim be high; 
All matter hath one law, concentering strong 

To some attractive point, — and thy world's core 
Is the foul seat of hell, and pain, and wrong: 

Yet courage, man ! the strife shall soon be o'er, 
And that poor leprous husk, sore travailing long. 

Shall yet cast ofi^ its death in second birth, 
And flame anew a heavenly centred earth !" 



358 RICHES. 

Heaps upon heaps, — hillocks of yellow gold, 
Jewels, and hanging silks, and piled-up plate. 

And marble groups in beauty's choicest mould, 
And viands rare, and odours delicate, 

And art and nature, in divinest works, 

Swell the full pomp of my triumphant state 
With all that makes a mortal glad and great; 

— Ah, no, not glad: within my secret heart 

The dreadful knowledge, like a death-worm lurks, 

That all this dream of life must soon depart; 
And the hot curse of talents misapplied 

Blisters my conscience with its burning smart. 
So that I long to fling my wealth aside : 
For my poor soul, when its rich mate hath died, 
Must lie with Dives, spoil' d of all its pride. 



The sun is bright and glad, but not for me, 

My heart is dead to all but pain and sorrow, 
Nor care nor hope have I in all I see. 

Save from the fear that I may starve to-morrow; 
And eagerly I seek uncertain toil. 

Leaving my sinews in the thankless furrow, 
To drain a scanty pittance from the soil. 
While my life's lamp burns dim for lack of oil. 

Alas, for you, poor famishing patient wife, 
And pale-faced little ones ! your feeble cries 

Torture my soul : worse than a blank is life 
Beggar'd of all that makes that life a prize : 

Yet one thing cheers me, — is not life the door 

To that rich world where no one can be poor? 



LIGHT. 869 

Xiglit. 

A GLORIOUS vision: as I walk'd at noon 

The children of the sun came thronging round me, 
In shining robes and diamond-studded shoon; 
And they did wing me up with them, and soon, 

In a bright dome of wondrous width I found me, 
Set all with beautiful eyes, whose wizard rays, 

Shed on my soul, in strong enchantment bound me; 
And so I look'd and lookM with dazzled gaze, 

Until my spirit drank in so much light 
That I grew like the sons of that glad place. 

Transparent, lovely, pure, serene, and bright; 
Then did they call me brother: and there gi-ew 

Swift from my sides broad pinions gold and white, 
And with that happy flock a brilliant thing I flew! 



A TERRIBLE dream : I lay at dead of night 

Tortur'd by some vague fear; it seem'd at first 
Like a small ink-spot on the ceiling white. 
To a black bubble swelling in my sight. 

And then it grew to a balloon and burst; 
Then I was drown'd, as with an ebon stream. 

And those dark waves quench'd all mine inward light, 
That in my saturated mind no gleam 

Remained of beauty, peace, or love, or right: 
I was a spirit of darkness ! — yet I knew 

I could not thus be left; it was but a dream; 
Still felt I full of horror; for a crew 

Of shadowy its hemm'd in my harried mind. 

And all my dread was waking mad and blind. 



360 POETRY. 

To touch the heart, and make its pulses thrill, 

To raise and purify the grovelling soul, 
To warm with generous heat the selfish will, 

To conquer passion with a mild control, 
And the whole man with nobler thoughts to fill, 

These are thine aims, pure unearthly power, 
These are thine influences : and therefore those 

Whose wings are clogg'd with evil, are thy foes; 

And therefore these, who have thee for their dower, 
The widow 'd spirits with no portion here. 

Eat angels' food, the manna thou dost shower: 
For thine are pleasures, deep, and tried, and true, 

Whether to read, or write, or think, or hear, 
By the gross million spurn'd, and fed on by the few. 



That the fine edge of intellect is dulFd 

And mortal ken with cloudy films obscure. 
And the numb'd heart so deep in stupor lulFd 

That virtue's self is weak its love to. lure. 

But pride and lust keep all the gates secure. 
This is thy fall, O man; and therefore those 
Whose aims are earthly, like pedestrian prose, — 

The selfish, useful, money-making plan, 
Cold language of the desk, or quibbling bar, 

Where in hard matter sinks ideal man : 
Still, worldly teacher, be it from me fiir 

Thy darkness to confound with yon bright band 
Poetic all, though not so named by men, 
Who have sway'd royally the mighty pen, 

And now as kings in prose on fame's clear summit stan( 



FRIENDSHIP, CONSTRAINED. 361 



GrENTLE, but generous, modost, pure and learned, 

Ready to hear the fool, or teach the wise, 
With gracious heart that all within him burnM 

To wipe the tears from virtue's blessed eyes 

And help again the struggling right to rise, 
Such an one, like a god, have I discerned 

"Walking in goodness this polluted earth, 
And cannot choose but love him : to my soul 
Swa/d irresistibly with sweet control. 

So rare and noble seems thy precious worth, 
That the young fibres of my happier heart. 

Like tendrils to the sun, are stretching forth 
To twine around thy fragrant excellence, 
child of love ^ — so dear to me thou art. 

So coveted by me thy good influence ! 



Coarse, vain, and vulgar, ignorant and mean. 
Sensual and sordid in each hope and aim, 

Selfish in appetite, and basely keen 

In tracking out gross pleasm'e's guilty game 
With eager eye, and bad heart all on flame, 

Such an one, like an Afreet, have I seen 

Shedding o'er this fair world his balefire light. 

And can I love him ? — far be from my thought 

To show not such the charities I ought, — 
But from his converse should I reap delight? 

Nor bid the tender sproutings of my mind 

Shrink from his evil, as from bane and blight. 
Nor back upon themselves my feelings roll? 

moral monster, loveless and unkind, * 

31 Thou art as wormwood to my secret soul! 



362 PHILANTHROPIC. 

Come near me, friends and brothers; hem me round 

With the dear faces of my fellow-men : 
The music of your tongues with magic sound 

Shall cheer my heart and make me happiest then; 
My soul yearns over you: the sitting hen 

Cowers not more fondly o'er her callow brood 
Than, in most kind excuse of all your ill, 

My heart is warm and patient for your good; 

that my power were measured by my will! 
Then would I bless you as I love you still, 

Forgiving, as I trust to be forgiven : 
Here, vilest of my kind, take hand and heart, 

1 also am a man, — 'tis all thou art. 

An erring needy pensioner of h^ven. 



^iBitEtlirnptt. 

How long am I to smell this tainted air. 

And in a pest-house draw my daily breath, — 
Where nothing but the sordid fear of death 
Restrains from grander guilt than cowards dare? 
loathsome, despicable, petty race. 

Low counterfeits of devils, villanous men. 
Sooner than learn to love a human face, 

I'll make my home in the hyaana's den. 

Or live with newts and bull-frogs on the fen: 
These at the least are honest; — but for man, 
The best will cheat and use you if he can; 

The best is only varnish'd o'er with good; 
Sujptle for self, for damning mammon keen. 
Cruel, luxurious, treacherous, proud and mean, — 

Great Justice, haste to crush the viper's brood : 
And I too am — a man ! — wretched fate 
To be the thing I scorn — more than I hate. 



COUNTRY. 863 

Most tranquil, innocent, and happy life, 

Full of the holy joy chaste nature yields, 
• Kedeem'd from care, and sin, and the hot strife 
That rings around the smoked unwholesome dome 

Where mighty Mammon his black sceptre wields, — 
Hei'e let me rest in humble cottage home, • 

Here let me labour in the enamell'd fields: 
How pleasant in these ancient woods to roam 
"With kind-eyed friend, or kindly-teaching book; 

Or the fresh gallop on the dew-dropt heath. 
Or at fair eventide with feather' d hook 
To strike the swift trout in the shallow brook. 

Or in the bower to twine the jasmine wreath, 
Or at the earliest blush of summer morn 

To trim the bed, or turn the new-mown hay. 
Or pick the perfumed hop, or reap the golden corn ! 

So should my peaceful life all smoothly glide away. 

€mii 

Enough of lanes, and trees, and valleys green, 
Enough of briary wood, and hot chalk-down, 

I hate the startling quiet of the scene. 

And long to hear the gay glad hum of town : 
My garden be the garden of the G-races, 

Flowers full of smiles, with fashion for their queen, 
My pleasant fields be crowds of joyous faces. 

The brilliant rout, the concert, and the ball, — 

These be my joys in endless carnival ! 
For I do loathe that sickening solitude, 

That childish hunting-up of flies and weeds. 
Or worse, the company of rustics rude, 
^ "Whose only hope* are bound in clods and seeds : 
Out on it ! let me live in town delight. 
And for your tedious country-mornings bright 
Give me gay London with its noon and night. 



864 WORLDLY AND WEALTHY. 

Idolator of gold, I love thee not, 

The orbits of our hearts are sphered afar, 

In lieu of tuneful sympathies, I wot. 

My thoughts and thine are all at utter jar, 

Beca*ise thou judgest by what men have got. 
Heeding but lightly what they do, or are: 
Alas, for thee ! this lust of gold shall mar. 

Like leprous stains, the tissue of thy lot, 

And drain the natural moisture from thy heart; 
Alas ! thou heedest not how poor thou art. 

Weigh M in the balances of truth, how vain : 
O wrecking mariner, fling out thy freight. 
Or founder with the heavily sinking weight; 

No longer dote upon thy treasured gain. 

Or quick, and sure to come, the hour shall be, 
When MENE TEKEL shall be sentenced thee. 



Rather be thou my counsellor and friend. 

Good man though poor, whose treasure with thy heart 

Is stored and set upon that better part. 
Choice of thy wisdom, without waste or end. 
And full of profits that to pleasures tend : 

How cheerful is thy face, how glad thou art! 
Using the world with all its bounteous store 

Of richest blessings, comforts, loves, and joys, 
Which thine all-healthy hunger prizeth more 

Than the gorged fool, whom sinful surfeit cloys; 
Still, not forgetful of thy nobler self, 

The breath divine within the^ — but with care 

Cherishing the faint spark that glimmereth there, 
Nor by Brazilian slavery to pelf 

Plunging thy taper into poison'd air. 



LIBER. \LITY. 365 

litornlitij. 

Give while thou canst, it is a godlike thing, 

Give what thou canst, thou shalt not find it loss, 

Yea, sell and. give, much gain such barteries bring, 
Yea, all thou hast, and get fine gold for dross : 

Still, see thou scatter wisely; for to fling 

Good seed on rocks, or sands, or thorny ground, 
Were not to copy Him, whose generous cross 

Hath this poor world with rich salvation crown 'd. 
And, when thou look'st on woes and want around, 

Knowing that Goj) hath lent thee all thy wealth, 
That better it is to give than to rec.eive, 

That riches cannot buy thee joy nor health, — 
Why hinder thine own welfare ? thousands grieve, 
Whom if thy pitying hand will but relieve. 
It shall for thine own wear the robe of gladness weave. 



Where vice is virtue, thou art still despised, 

petty loathsome love of hoarded pelf, 
Even in the pit where all things vile are prized. 

Still is there found in Lucifer himself 
Spirit enough to hate thee, sordid thing : 

Thank Heaven ! I own in thee nor lot nor p^t ; 
And though to many a sin and folly cling 

The worse weak fibres of my weedy heart. 
Yet to thy wither'd lips and snake-like eye 

My warmest welcome is. Depart, depart, — 

For to my sense so foul and base thou art 
I would not stoop to thee to reach the sky: 

Aroint thee, filching hand, and heart of stone ! 

Be this thy doom, with conscience left alone 



31 



Learn how like Death thou art, unsated sefilsh one. 



366 ANCIENT. 

My syaapathies are all with times of old, 
I cannot live with things of yesterday, 
Upstart, and flippant, foolish, weak, and gay, 

But spirits cast in a severer mould. 

Of solid worth, like elemental gold; 

I love to wander o'er the shadowy past, 

Dreaming of dynasties long swept away. 
And seem to find myself almost the last 
Of a time-honour'd race, decaying fast : 

For I can dote upon the rare antique, 
Conjuring up what story it might tell. 

The bronze, or bead, or coin, or quaint relique; 
And in a desert could delight to dwell 

Among vast ruins, — Tadmor's stately halls, 
Old Egypt's giant fanes, or BabePs mouldering walls. 



Behold, I stand upon a speck of earth 

To work the works allotted me, — and die; 
Glad among toils to snatch a little mirth. 

And,, when I must, unmurmuring down to lie 
Tn the same soil that gave me food and birth : 

For all that went before me, what care I? 

The past, the future, — these are but a dream; 
I want the tangible good of present worth. 

And heed not wisps of light that dance and gleam 

Over the marshes of the foolish past : 

We are a race the best, because the last, 
Improving all, and happier day by day 

To think our chosen lot hath not been cast 
In those old puerile times, discreetly swept away. 



SPIRIT. 3g; 

Ipirit. 

Throw me from this tall cliflf, — my wings are strong, 

The hurricane is raging fierce and high, 
My spirit pants, and all in heat I long 

To struggle upward to a purer sky, 

And tread the clouds above me rolling by : 
Lo, thus into the buoyant air I leap 

Confident, and exulting, at a bound. 
Swifter than whu-lwinds, happily to sweep 

On fiery wing the reeling world around : 
Off with my fetters ! — who shall hold me back ? 
My path lies there, — the lightning's sudden track. 
O'er the blue concave of the fathomless deep, — 

Oh, — thus to spurn matter, and space, and time, 

And soar above the universe sublime ! 



Jfintttt. 

In the deep clay of yonder sluggish flood 
The huge behemoth makes his ancient lair, 
And with slow caution heavily wallows there, 

Moving above the stream, a mound of mud: 
And near him stretching to the river's edge 

In dense dark grandeur, stands the silent wood. 

Whose unpierced jungles, choked with rotting sedge, 

Prison the damp air from the freshening breeze : 
Lo ! the rhinoceros comes down this way 

Thundering furiously on, — and snorting sees 
The harmless monster at his awkward play, 

And rushes on him from the crashing trees, — 
A dreadful shock : as when the Titans hurl'd 
Against high Jove the Himalayan world ! 



368 LIFE. 

iCift. 

Life, glorious ! sister-twin of light, 
Essence of Grodhead, energizing love, 

Hail,, gentle conqueror of dead cold night, 
Hail, on the water's kindly-brooding dove? 

1 feel thee near me, in me : thy strange might 

Flies through my bones like fire, — my heart beats high 
With thy glad presence; pain and fear and care 

Hide from the lightning laughter of mine eye; 
No dark unseasonable terrors dare 

Disturb me, revelling in the luxury. 
The new-found luxury of life and health, 

This blithesome elasticity of limb. 

This pleasure, in which all my senses swim, 
This deep outpouring of a creature's wealth ! 



itntli. 



Ghastly and weak, dreadful monarch Death, 
With failing feet I near thy silent realm. 

Upon my brain strikes chill thine icy breath. 
My fluttering heart thy terrors overwhelm. 

Thou sullen pilot of life's crazy bark. 

How treacherously thou puttest down the helm 
Just where smooth eddies hide the sunken rock 

While close behind follows the hungry shark 
Snuffing his meal from far, swift with black fin 
The foam dividing, — ha! that sudden shock 

Splits my frail skiif; upon the billows dark 

A drowning wretch awhile struggling I float, 
Till, just as I had hoped the wreck to win, 

I feel thy bony fingers clutch my throat. 



ELLEN GtAY. 369 



THE EXCUSE OF AN UXFORTUXATE. 

A STARLESS night, and bitter cold; 
The low dun clouds all -wildly rolFd, 

Scudding before |he blast, 
And cheerlessly the frozen sleet 
Adown the melancholy street 

Swept onward thick and fast; 

When, crouched at an unfriendly door, 
Faint, sick, and miserably poor, 

A silent woman sate, 
She might be young, and had been fair, 
But from her eye look'd out despair, 

All dim and desolate. 

Was I to pass her coldly by. 
Leaving her there to pine and die, 

The live-long freezing night? 
The secret answer of my heart 
Told me I had not done my -part 

In flinging her a mite; 

She look'd her thanks, — then droop'd her head; 
-^' Have you no friend, no home V' I said : 

"Get up, poor creature, come, — 
You seem unhappy, faint, and weak. 
How can I serve or save you, — speak, 

Or whither help you home?'^ 



370 ELLKN GRAY. 

"Alas, kind sir, poor Ellen Gray 
Has had no friend this many a day, 

And, but that you seem kind, — 
She has not found the face of late 
That look'd on her in aught but hate, 

And still despairs to find: 

And for a home, — would I had none I 
The home I have, a wicked one, 

They will not let me in. 
Till I can fee my jailor's hands 
With the vile tribute she demands, 

The wages of my sin : 

« I see your goodness on me frown; 

Yet hear the veriest wretch on town, 

While yet in life she may, 
Tell the sad story of her grief, — 
Though heaven alone can bring relief 

To guilty Ellen Gray. 

My mother died when I was born: 
And I was flung, a babe forlorn. 

Upon the workhouse floor ; 
My father, — would I knew him not! 
A squalid thief, a reckless sot, 

— I dare not tell you more. 

And I was bound an infant-slave, 
With no one near to love or save 

From cruel sordid men, 
A friendless, famish'd, factory child. 
Morn, noon, and night I toil'd and toil'd,- 

Yet was I happy then. 



E L L E N R A Y . 371 

My heart was pure, my face was fairj. 
Ahj would to God a cancer there 

Had eaten out its way ! 
For soon my tasker, dreaded man, 
With treacherous wiles and arts began 

To mark me for his prey. 

And month by month he vainly strove 
To light the flame of lawless love 

In my most loathing breast; 
Oh, how I fear'd and hated him. 
So basely kind, so smoothly grim, 

My terror, and my pest ! 

Till one day, at that prison-mill, — 

Thenceforward droop'd my stricken head; 
I lived, — I died, a life of dread, 

Lest they should guess my shame j 
But weeks and months would pass away, 
And all too soon the bitter day 

Of wrath and ruin came; 
• 

I could not hide my alter' d form : 
Then on my head the fearful storm 

Of jibe and insult burst : 
Men only mock'd me for my fate. 
But women's scorn and women's hate 

Me, their poor sister, curst. 

woman, had thy kindless face 

• But gentler look'd on my disgrace, 

And heal'd the wounds it gave ! — 

1 was a drowning sinking wretch, 
Whom no one loved enough to stretch 

A finger out to save. 



372 ELLEN GRAY. 

They tore my baby from my heart, 
And lock'd it in some hole apart 

Where I could hear its cry, 
Such was the horrid poor-house law; — 
Its little throes I never saw, 

Although I heard it die ! 

Still the stone hearts that ruled the place 
Let me not kiss my darling's face, 

My little darling dead; 
Oh ! I was mad with rage and hate, 
And yet all sullenly I sate. 

And not a word I said. 

I would not stay, I could not bear 
To breathe the same infected air 

That kiird my precious child; 
I watch' d my time, and fled away 
The livelong night, the livelong day, 

"With fear and anguish wild: 

Till down upon a river's bank. 
Twenty leagues off, fainting, I sank, 

And only long'd to die; 
I had no hope, no home, no friend. 
No GrOD ! — I sought but for an end 

To life and misery. 

Ah, lightly heed the righteous few, 
How little to themselves is due. 

But all things given to them; 
Yet the unwise, because untaught. 
The wandering sheep, because unsought, 

They heartlessly condemn: 



ELLEN GRAY. 373 

And little can the untempted dream 
"While gliding smoothly down life's stream 

They keep the letter-laws, 
What they would be, if, tost like me 
Hopeless upon life's barren sea, 

They knew how hunger gnaws. 

I was half-starved, I tried in vain 
To get me work my bread to gain; 

Before me flew my shame; 
Cold Charity put up her purse, 
And none look'd on me but to curse 

The daughter of ill-fame. 

Alas, why need I count by links 

The heavy lengthening chain that sinks 

My heart, my soul, my all? 
I still was fair, though hope was dead, 
And so I sold myself for bread, 

And lived upon my fall: 

Now I was reckless, bold and bad. 
My love was hate, — I grew half-mad 

With thinking on my wrongs; 
Disease, and pain, and giant-sin 
Kent body and soul, and raged within i 

Such meed to guilt belongs. 

And what I was, — such still am I; 
Afraid to live, unfit to die, — 

And yet I hoped I might 
Meet my best friend and lover — Death 
In the fierce frowns and frozen breath 

Of this December night. 
32 



374 ELLENGRAY. 

My tale is told : my heart grows cold ; 
I cannot stir, — yet, — kind good sir, 

I know that you will stay, — 
And God is kinder e'en than you, — 
Can He not look with pity too 

On wretched Ellen Gray?" 

Her eye was fix'd; she said no more, 
But propp'd against the cold street-door 

She lean'd her fainting headj 
One moment she look'd up and smiled 
Full of new hope, as Mercy's child, 

— And Ellen Gray was dead. 



(Cjliirittt. 

Fair Charity, thou rarest, best, and brightest! 

Who would not gladly hide thee in his heart, 
"With all thine angel-guests? for thou delightest 

To bring such with thee, — guests that ne'er depart; 
Cherub, with what enticement thou invitest, 

Perfect in winning beauty as thou art, 
World-wearied man to plant thee in his bosom 
And graft upon his cares thy balmy blossom. 

Fain would he be frank-hearted, generous, cheerful, 
Forgiving, aiding, loving, trusting all, — 

But knowledge of his kind has made him fearful 
All are not friends, whom friends he longs to call; 

For prudence makes men cold, and misery tearful. 
And interest bids them rise upon his fall. 

And while they seek their selfish own to cherish, 

They leave the wounded stag alone to perish. 



C U A R I T Y . 375 

Man may rejoice that thy sweet influence hallows 
His intercourse with all he loves — in heaven: 

But canst thou make him love his sordid fellows, 
And mix with them untainted by their leaven? 

How can he not grow cautious, cold, and callous, 
When he forgives to seventy-times seven, 

And still-repeated wrongs, unwept for, harden 

The heart that's never sued nor sought to pardon ? 

Reserve's cold breath has chilFd each warmer feeling. 

Ingratitude has frozen up his blood, 
Unjust neglect has pierced him, past all healing, 
■ And scarr'd a heart that panted to do good; 
Slowly, but surely, has distrust been steeling 

His mind, much wronged, and little understood : 
"Would charity unseal afiection's fountain? 
Alas ! 'tis crush'd beneath a marble mountain. 

Yet the belief that he was loved by other 

Could root and hurl that mountain in the sea. 

Oblivion's depth the height of ill would smother 
And all forgiven, all forgotten be , 

Man then could love his once injurious brother 
With such a love as none can give but he; 

The sun of love, and that alone has power 

To bring to bright perfection love's sweet flower. 

Soft rains, and zephyrs, and warm noons can vanquish 

The stubborn tyranny of winter's frost; 
Once more the smiling valleys cease to languish, 

Drest out in fresher beauties than they lost: 
So springs with gladness from its bed of anguish 

The heart that loved not, when reviled and crost, 
But, once beloved, — oh then not once but often 
Love's sunny smile the rockiest heart will soften. 



376 TO MY BOOK, "PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY." 

BEFORE PUBLICATION. 1837. 

My soul's own son, dear image of my mind, 
I would not without blessing send thee forth 

Into the bleak wide world, whose voice unkind 
Perchance will mock at thee as nothing worth; 

For the cold critic's jealous eye may find 
In all thy purposed good little but ill. 
May taunt thy simple garb as quaintly wrought, 

And praise thee for no more than the small skill 
Of masking as thine own another's thought : 
What then ? — count envious sneers as less than nought 

Fair is thine aim, and, having done thy best, 

Lo, thus I bless thee; yea, thou shalt be blest! 



AFTER PUBLICATION. 

That they have praised thee well, and cheer'd thee on 

With kinder tones that critics deign to few, 
Child of my thoughts, my fancy's favourite son. 
Our courteous thanks, our heartfelt thanks are due. 

Despise not thou thine equal's honest praise; 
Yet feast not of such dainties; thou shalt rue 
Their sweetness else; let rather generous pride 
Those golden apples straightly spurn aside, 

And gird thee all unshackled to the race: 
On to the goal of honour, fair beginner, 
A thousand ducats thou shalt yet be winner! 



TO THE SAME. 377 

ON THE rUBLICATIOX OF THE SECOND EDITION. 

Yet once again, not after many days 

Since first I dared this voyage in the dark, 
Borne on the jDrosperous gale of good men's praise 

To the wide waters I commit mine ark, 
And bid God speed thy venture, gallant bark ! 

For I have launched thee on a thousand prayers, 
Freighted thee well with all my mind and heart, — 

And if some contraband error unawares 
Like Achan's wedge, lie hid in any part, 
Stand it condemn 'd, as it most justly ought : 
Yet be the thinker spared, if not his thought; 
For he that with an honest purpose errs 
Merits more kind excuse than the shrewd world confers. 



WMln (Sifts. 

(Set to music by the Chevalier Neukomm, in 1832.) 

Young bride, — a wreath for thee! 

Of sweet and gentle flowers; 
For wedded love was pure and free 

In Eden's happy bowers. 

Young bride, — a song for thee ! 

A song of joyous measure, 
For thy cup of hope shall be 

Fill'd with honied pleasure. 
32* 



378 WEDDING GIFTS. 

Young bride, — a tear for thee ! 

A tear in all thy gladness; 
For thy young heart shall not see 

Joy unmix' d with sadness. 

Young bride, — a smile for thee ! 

To shine away thy sorrow, 
For heaTcn is kind to-day, and we 

Will hope as well to-morrow. 

Young bride, — a prayer for thee ! 

That, all thy hopes possessing, 
Thy soul may praise her God, and He 

May crown thee with His blessing. 



iPrm 1833, 

Harmless, happy little treasures, 
Full of truth, and trust, and mirth, 

Richest wealth, and purest pleasures 
In this mean and guilty earth. 

How I love you, pretty creatures, 
Lamb-like flock of little things. 

Where the love that lights your features 
From the heart in beauty springs: 

On these laughing rosy faces 
There are no deep lines of sin, 

None of passion's dreary traces 
That betray the wounds within : 



CHILDREN. 

But yours is the suunj dimple 
Radiant with untutor'd smiles, 

Yours the heart, sincere and simple, 
Innocent of selfish wiles; 

Yours the natural curling tresses, 
Prattling tongues, and shyness coy. 

Tottering steps, and kind caresses. 

Pure with health, and warm with joy. 

The dull slaves of gain, or passion 
Cannot love you as they should. 

The poor worldly fools of fashion 
Would not love you if they could : 

Write them childless, those cold-hearted, 
Who can scorn Thy generous boon. 

And whose souls with fear have smarted, 
Lest — Thy blessings come too soon. 

While he hath a child to love him 

No man can be poor indeed. 
While he trusts a Friend above him. 

None can sorrow, fear, or need. 

But for thee, whose hearth is lonely 
And unwarm'd by children's mirth, 

Spite of riches, thou art only 
Desolate and poor on earth : 

All unkiss'd by innocent beauty. 
All unloved by guileless heart. 

All uncheer'd by sweetest duty. 
Childless one, how poor thou art! 



380 THE queen's birthday 



Another year, Queen of many realms, 

Dawns in fair promise on my Sovereign's throne j 
And, while the hurrying tempest overwhelms 

All climes and crowns beside, — Thou, thou alone 

Sittest in majesty, God's favour 'd one : 
Yea, blessed of the Lord, — how blest art thou ! 

Blest in the King of King's own secret love, 
Blest in thy people never more than now. 

Blest in the earth beneath and heaven above; 
And, be thou blest for ever ! this glad day 

That gave to us the mercy of thy birth, 
Be full of good to thee in God's own way. 

As His chief child and servant upon earth 
For whom a thousand thousands hourly pray! 

0, shielded by such panoply of saints 

Forged in high heaven ! thus, most gracious Queen, 
If ever here thy royal spirit faints 

Amid the perils of a changeful scene 

These prayers shall pour upon thy brow serene, 
Unruffled radiance; shedding holy balm, 
Like moonlight silvering a lake at calm, 

Over thy many cares and many fears 

So luU'd to rest : and thus, on history's page, 
Mercies to come for many happy years 

Shall be thy birthright: though the nations rage, 
And the uprooted mountains churn the sea. 

The Lord shall bless thy line from age to age, 
And Britain thank her God for lending thee! 



AGREEN HOUSE. 381 



% §nu)^nmL 



Fragrant and fresb^ the tropical warm air 

Lures into life my ^'bright consummate" flowers, 
That, newly bathed in artificial showers, 

Show to the sun their thousand beauties rare : 

Here, in high pomp, the gorgeous Cactus flings 
Its eastern tassel down the prickly stem, 

And Fuchsias spread their tiny scarlet wings. 
Like hovering humming-birds in emerald bowers : 

There, the tall Amaryll's pink diadem 
Above this lowlier Hyacinth queenly towers; 

While Orange-blossoms, mingling in the throng 
With blushing Roses, and G-eraniums bright. 

Pour forth an eloquent flood of silent song, 
And wrap the heart "in dances and delight." 



51 §lmpt nf ^^nriiMsL 

Not many rays of heaven's unfallen sun 

Reach the dull distance of this world of ours, 
Nor oft dispel its shadows cold and dun. 

Nor oft with glory tinge its faded flowers: 
But, oh, if ever yet there wander' d one. 

Like Peri from her amaranthine bowers. 
Or ministering angel, sent to bless, 
'Twas to thy hearth, domestic happiness. 
Where in the sunshine of a peaceful home 
Love's choicest roses bud, and burst, and bloom. 
And bleeding hearts, luU'd in a holy calm. 
Bathe their deep wounds in Gilead's healing balm. 



TO THE SOVEREIGN. 

Bold in my freedom, yet witli homage meek, 
As duty prompts and loyalty commands, 

To thee, Queen of empires, would I speak: 
Behold, the most high God hath giv'n to thee 
Kingdoms and glories, might and majesty, 
Setting thee ruler over many lands; 

Him first to serve, Monarch, wisely seek: 

And many people, nations, languages, 

Have laid their welfare in thy sovereign hands; 

Them next to bless, to prosper, and to please, 

Nobly forget thyself, and thine own ease : 
Rebuke ill counsel; rally round thy state 
The scattered good, and true, and wise, and great; 

So Heav'n upon thee shed sweet influences! 



'^t Cnrnnntinii. 

Queen of the Isles, blue ocean's choicest pearl, 
We hail thy day of glory ! — unto thee 
Admiring thousands bend the duteous knee, 
And bless thee for their brightening hopes, fair girl. 
Hark ! 'tis the thunder of a nation's voice, 
Uttering its awful love in loyal peals; 
While, as thy car of triumph onward wheels, 
The trumpets and the cannon, and the chimes 
Bid every true-born Briton's heart rejoice. 
Glad in the sunny light of happier times : 
And, Maiden Monarch, if amid the whirl 
Of majesty and greatness, — as of old, 
A secret monitor, in duty bold. 
To tell thee " thou art mortal," humbly dares, 
Forgive the noble Muse, and love her for her pray'rs. 



T H E A B B E Y . 383 

June 28, 1838. 

Never again, — till earth casts out her dead, 

And teeming ocean yields lier rescued prey, — 
A sight so full of hope, delight, and dread. 

Thrilling and grand, as met thy view this day 
Mayst thou behold : high reaching overhead 
The light aerial galleries were throng'd 
Sublime with multitudes, acclaiming loud; 
While far beneath, that coronetted crowd 

Sat like a thousand kings; in yonder aisle 
A virgin troop, azure and silver, show'd 
As spirits, who to a fairy world belong' d, 
Or some soft nest of doves : deeply the while 
Rolled in a deluge from the golden quire 
The tide of musical praise, — hail<mix'd with fire 
While midway throned, the brightest central gem, 

Fair Sun illumining that glorious scene, 
In purple robe and glittering diadem. 
Majestic sat Britannia's gentle Queen! 



Monarch of millions, yet a gentle maid, 
fair and young, yet dignified and sage. 

Most glorious Queen, yet in thy glory staid, 
Bright star of promise for our golden age, 



384 



UNION. 



All hail, the Lord's anointed! Thou art lent 

In mercy, like our other blessings allj 
A messenger of peace, divinely sent. 

That only good may rise, and evil fall; 
Heal, then, a realm by jarring factions rent; 

Take these contentious brothers by the hand, 
Smile down their quarrels, and unite their strength; 

Till, only jealous for their father-land, 
Men of all systems, reconciled at length 

To one just object, take their patriot stand 
Around our Zion's bulwarks, hers alone 
The archetypes of heaven, — the Altar and the Throne! 



Sap put hit- 1830. 

Though we charge to-day with fleetness, 
Though we dread to-morrow's sky, 

There's a melancholy sweetness 
In the name of days gone by: 

Yes, though Time has laid his finger 
On them, still with streaming eye 

There are spots where I can linger 
Sacred to the days gone by. 

Oft as memory's glance is ranging 
Over scenes that cannot die. 

Then I feel that all is changing, 
Then I weep the days gone by : 

Sorrowful should I be, and lonely, 
Were not all the same as I, 

'Tis for all, not my lot only. 
To lament the days gone by. 



D A Y S G O N E B Y . 395 

Cease, fond heart, — to thee are given 

Hopes of better things on high, 
There is still a coming heaven 

Better than the days gone by; 

Faith lifts off the sable curtain 

Hiding huge eternity, 
Hope accounts her prize as certain, 

And forgets the days gone by; 

Love, in gi-ateful adoration 

Bids distrust and sorrow fly, 
And with glad anticipation 

Calms regret for days gone by. 



'^t (Crisii 1829. 

Hush — heaven I a moment more, 
A breath, a step, and all is o'er; 
Hark — beneath the waters wild, 
Save, mercy, save my child. 

Swiftly from her heaving breast 
The mother tore the snowy vest, — 
Her little truant saw and smiled, 
Turn'd, — and mercy saved the child. 

Thus, the face of love can win 
Where fear is weak to scare from sin; 
Thus, when faith and conscience slept, 
Jesus look'd, — and Peter wept. 



886 LAMENT. 



tmmt 1837. 

Alas ! poor Muse, thy songs are out of time ; 
Thy lot hath fallen on an iron age, 
When unrelenting war the sordid wage 

Against thee, — counting it no venial crime 

To fling down in thy cause the champion's gage, 

Aud utterly scorning him, who dares to rhyme : 
that thy thoughts had fill'd an earlier page, 
And won the favouring ears of holier men ! 

Whose spirits might with thee have soar'd sublime 
Far above selfish Mammon's crowded den : 
Thou hadst been more at home, and happier then 

Yet be thou of good courage; there are still 

Those "left sev'n thousand," whose affections will 

Yearn on thy little good, and pardon thy much ill. 



innm mitlj /nmgii I^Srfetrmfl 185L 

Christian England ! where so long 
Freedom's trumpet, clear and strong, 
Still has stirr'd the patriot song — 

Down with foreign priestcraft! 
England ! Truth's own island-nest, 
Pure Religion's happy rest, 
Ever shall thy sons protest 

Down with foreign priestcraft! 

What ! shall these Italian knaves 
Dream again to make us slaves 
From our cradles to our graves 

With their foreign priestcraft? 



DOWN WITH FOREIGN PRIESTCRAFT. 387 

.Out on every false pretence ! 
Common right and common sense 
Shout against such insolence, 

Down with foreign priestcraft! 

Aye, — insidious fawning foe, 
Little as you thought it so, 
England's wrath is all aglow. 

Scorning foreign priestcraft — 
Take our Jesuits, if you will, 
England's heart rejects their ill. 
And her mouth is thundering still, 

Down with foreign priestcraft 

Hark ! in ancient warmth and worth, 
East and west and south and north. 
Flies the loyal spirit forth. 

Loathing foreign priestcraft; 
Evermore with Rome to cope. 
We will bate nor heart nor hope, 
But our shout shall stun the Pope, 

Down with foreign priestcraft! 



€^t (eatljEkiil Mint 

Temple of truths most eloquently spoken. 

Shrine of sweet thoughts veil'd-in with words of power. 
The "Author's mind'' replete with hallow'd riches 
Stands a Cathedral : full of precious things, — 
Tastefully built in harmonies unbroken, 

Cloister, and aisle, dark crypt, and aery tower: 
Long-treasured relics in the fretted niches, 



THE CATHEDRAL MIND. 

And secret stores, and heap'd-up offerings, 
Art's noblest gems, with every fruit and flower, 

Paintings and sculpture, choice imaginings, 
Its plenitude of wealth and praise betoken : 

An ever-burning lamp portrays the soul; 
Deep music all around enchantment flings; 

And God's great Presence consecrates the whole. 



^nlito IE 1839. 

Chill'd is the patriot's hope, the poet's prayer: 
Alas, for England and her tarnish' d crown, 
Her sun of ancient glory going down. 
Her foes triumphant in her friends' despair: 
What wonder should the billows overwhelm 

A bark so mann'd by Comus and his crew, 
" Youth at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm ? " 
Yet, no! — we will not fear; the loathing realm 
At length has burst its chains; a motley few, 
The pseudo-saint, the boasting infidel. 
The demagogue, and courtier, hand in hand 

No more besiege our Zion's citadel : 
But high in hope comes on this nobler band. 
For God, the sovereign, and our father-land. 



€n n ^xmm. 



Hold thy rash hand! — for Briton is no slave, 
Thus to be forced against her word and will; 

Her voice is terrible, her heart is brave. 
Her lion-nature free and fearless still : 

Why make this reckless haste to compass ill? 



TO A PREMIER. ggf) 



Be, if thou canst, deliberate and grave: 
For, hark ! I hear upon the burden'd wind 

From fell and field and town and dale and hill, 
That gathering tempest of the Nation's mind, 
No peace with Rome ! no league with crafty Rome ! 
Down with the traitor ! who would smoothly bind 

Her chains around us, — and whose deed would mark 
With the foul beast our every hearth and home, 

Changing our glorious Light to utter Dark. 



|5rnteling Cnitlj. 

Protestant saints, is it the truth, indeed, 
That cold negations merely, or in chief, 

Make up the sorry texture of your creed — 
A torn and flimsy robe of non-belief? 

No! freely as your fathers would ye bleed, 

Positive witnesses for truth and good; 

Worshipping GrOD, instead of stone and wood, 
Pleading all merit solely in His Son, 

Spurning each other fabulous help, and aid. 
And mediation — for there is but One ! 

Moreover, this : none ever stoutly stood 

Against the False, but that his temper'd blade. 
Pruning that bitter shoot, strengthen' d the bud. 
The bud of Truth, whose bloom shall never fade. 



33* 



390 THE UNHOLY ALLIANCE, 



€jlB traljnltt Mmih 

Yes, we protest! In just and generous strife 

We combat Rome, the idolatrous and proud: 
How should the adulteress and the married wife 
Together walk adown the vale of life, 

In a false peace and union disallowed? 

True, there be some pure Abdiels in the crowd, 
Faithful among the faithless; here and there 

A Fenelon, a Pascal, whom to love 

Were joy, and privilege to meet above : — 
Accidents all, as angels scant and rare : 

Far other, carved in rock, and dyed in black, 
Stand in the sun Rome's evil qualities — 

Fraud, force, extortion, pride, the stake, the rack, 
Blaspheming guilt, and mad idolatries ! 



(EiprMmij. 1839. 

Do ill that good may come, — so Satan spoke : 

Woe to the land deluded by that lie, 
Woe to its rulers, for whose evil sake 

The curse of God may now be hovering nigh: — 
Up, England, and avert it ! boldly break 

The spells of sorceress Rome, and cast away 
The cords of bad expedience : is it wise. 

Or right, or safe, for some chance gains to-day, 
To dare sure vengeance on to-morrow's skies? 
Be wiser thou, dear land, my native home, 
Do always good, do good that good may come; 
The path of duty lies before thee plain, 

Turn from the harlot speech of papal Rome, 
For none who go that way return again. 



GOOD SHEPHERDS 



Ye seek not praise from man, — nor fear his face ; 

Then let my words be few. Before your Lord 
Commended, as established by His grace, 

Faithful ye stand to reap a just reward: 
True shepherds of the flock, whom power and place 

Have not corrupted from that lowlier mind 
Which dwelt in Him, — we love in you to trace 

The likeness of His zeal, in you to find 
Martyrs for truth amid these perilous times. 

Thunders, with fire and hail, are threatening round, 
And good men tremble at their rulers' crimes; 

And Babylon must rise once more to fall: 
Yet is there hope; whilst ye are faithful found, 

Zion is safe behind her sevenfold wall. 



;j'Ji 



Imeritan Sikllab 

1849. 

Ho ! Brother, I 'm a Britisher, 

A chip of heart of oak 
That wouldn't warp or swerve or stir 

From what I thought or spoke, — 
And you — a blunt and honest man, 

Straightforward, kind, and true, 
I tell you, Brother Jonathan, 

That you're a Briton too. 

I know your heart, an open heart, 

I read your mind and will, 
A greyhound ever on the start 

To run for honour still; 
And shrewd to scheme a likely plan, 

And stout to see it done, 
I tell you. Brother Jonathan, 

That you and I are one ! 

There may he jealousies and strife, 
For men have selfish ends. 

But petty quarrels ginger life. 
And help to season friends; 



(392) 



TO BROTHER JONATHAN. 

And pundits who, with solemn scan, 

Judge humans most aright, 
Decide it, testy Jonathan, 

That brothers always fight. 

Two fledgling sparrows in one nest 

Will chirp about a worm, 
Then how should eaglets meekly rest, 

The children of the storm? 
No ! while their rustled pinions fan 

The eyrie's dizzy side. 
Like you and me, my Jonathan, 

It's all for Love and Pride ! 

"God save the Queen" delights you still, 

And "British Grenadiers," 
The good old strains your heartstrings thrill, 

And catch you by both ears; 
And we, — hate us if you can, 

For we are proud of you. 
We like you, Brother Jonathan, 

And "Yankee Doodle" too! 

There's nothing foreign in your face. 

Nor strange upon your tongue. 
You come not of another race 

From baser lineage sprung; 
No, brother! though away you ran, 

As truant boys will do, 
Still true it is, young Jonathan, 

My fathers father'd you. 

Time was, — it wasn't long ago. 

Your grandsire went with mine 
To battle traitors, blow for blow. 

For England's royal line; 



593 



394 TO BROTHER JONATHAN. 

Or tripp'd to court to kiss Queen Anne, 

Or worship mighty Bess, 
And you and I, good Jonathan, 

Went with them then, I guess. 

Together both, — 'twas long ago, 

Among the Roses fought. 
Or charging fierce the Paynim foe 

Did all knight-errants ought : 
As Cavalier or Puritan 

Together pray'd or swore 
For John's own Brother Jonathan 

Was only John of yore I 

There lived a man, a man of men, 

Ji. King on fancy's throne, 
We ne'er shall see his like again, 

The globe is all his own; 
And, if we claim him of our clan. 

He half belongs to you. 
For Shakspeare, happy Jonathan, 

Is yours and Britain's too ! 

There was another glorious name, 

A poet for all time. 
Who gain'd the double-first of fame, 

The beautiful-sublime; 
And let us hide him as we can. 

More miserly than pelf. 
Our Yankee brother Jonathan 

Cries halves in Milton's self! 

Well, well: and every praise of old, 
That makes us famous still. 

You would be just, and may be bold 
To share it if you will, — 



TO BROTHER JONATHAN. 

Since England's glory first began, 

Till — just the other day, 
The half is yours ! but, Jonathan, 

Why did you run away? 

Brother, could we both be one 

In nation and in name. 
How gladly would the very sun 

Lie basking in our fame? 
In either world to lead the van 

And go ahead for good, 
While earth to John and Jonathan 

Yields tribute gratitude! 

Add but your stripes and golden stars 

To brave St. George's cross. 
And never dream of mutual wars 

Two dunces' mutual loss; 
Let us two bless where others ban. 

And love when others hate. 
And so, my cordial Jonathan, 

We'll fit, I calculate. 

What more? I touch not holier strings 

A loftier strain to win. 
Nor glance at prophets, priests, and kings, 

Or heavenly kith or kin; 
As friend with friend, and man with man, 

let our hearts be thus. 
As David's love to Jonathan, 

Be Jonathan's to us! 



39: 



396 ''ye T H I \{ T V N () n I, K N A 'i' J () N S . 



''^B €tiirtii otWe SutinnH/' 

Ye Thirty noble Nations 

Confederate in One ! 
That keep your starry stations 

Around the Western Sun, — 
I have a glorious mission, 

And must obey the call, — » 
A claim ! and a Petition ! 

To set before you All. 

Away with party blindness, 

Away with petty spite ! 
My Claim is one of Kindness, 

My Prayer is one of Eight; 
And while in grace ye listen, — 

For tenderness, I know 
Your eyes shall dim and glisten, 

Your hearts shall thrill and glow- 

For, on those hearts is written 

The spirit of my song, — 
I claim your love for Britain, 

In spite of every wrong! 
I claim it for — your mother. 

Your sister, and your spouse, 
Your father, friend, and brother. 

The " Hector '^ of your vows ! 

In spite of all the evils 

That statesmen ever brew'd, 

Or busy printers'-devils, 
Or Celtic gratitude, — 



34 



"YE THIRTY NOBLE N A T 10 N S , 

In spite of politicians 

And diplomatic fuss, 
Your feelings and traditions 

Are cordially with us ! 

yes ! your recollections 

Look back with streaming eye 
To pour those old affections 

On scenes and days gone by; 
Your Eagle well remembers 

His dear old island-nest, 
And sorrow stirs the embers 

Of love within his breast ! 

Ah ! need I tell of places 

You dream and dwell on still? 
Those old familiar faces 

Of English vale and hill, — 
The sites you think of, sobbing, 

And seek as pilgrims seek. 
With brows and bosoms throbbing 

And tears upon your cheek! 

Or should I touch on glories 

That date in ages gone, 
Those dear historic stories 

When England's fame was won,— 
The tales your children thronging 

So gladly hear you tell. 
And note their fathers' longing 

And love that longing well! 

For language, follies, fashions, 

Religion, honour, shame, 
And human loves and passions, 

Oh! we are just the same: 



397 



898 



You, you are England, growing 

To Continental state, 
And we Columbia, glowing 

With all that makes you great! 

Yes, Anglo-Saxon brother, 

I see your heart is right, — 
And we will warm each other 

With all our loves alight; 
In feeling and in reason 

My Claim is stow'd away, — 
And kissing is in season 

For ever and a day ! — 

And now in frank contrition, 

O brother mine, give heed, — 
And hear the just Petition 

My feeble tongue would plead; 
I plead across the waters. 

So deeply crimson-stain' d. 
For Afric's sons and daughters 

Whom freemen hold enchain'd I 

I taunt you not unkindly 

With ills you didn't make, 
I would not wish you blindly 

In haste the bond to break; 
But tenderly and truly 

To file away the chain, 
And render justice duly 

To Man's Estate again! 

judge ye how degrading, — 
A Christian bought and sold! 

And human monsters trading 
In human flesh for gold! 



YE THIRTY NOBLE NATIONS." 39^ 

When ruthlessly they plunder 

Poor Afric's homes defiled, 
And all to sell — asunder ! 

The mother and her child. 

O free and fearless Nation, 

Wipe out this damning spot, 
Earth's worst abomination, 

And nature's blackest blot; 
Begin and speed the rather 

To help with hand and eye 
The children of your Father 

Beneath His tropic sky. 

He — He who form'd and frees us 

And makes us white within. 
Who knows how Holy Jesus 

May love that tinted skin! 
For none can tell how darkly 

The sun of Jewry shed 
Its burning shadows starkly 

On Jesu's homeless head! 

And lo ! One great salvation 

Hath burst upon the World, — 
And God's Illumination 

Like noonday shines unfurl'd; 
Shall bonds or colour pale it? 

Candace's Eunuch — say ! — 
The first, though black, to hail it. 

And love the Gospel Day! 

Columbia, well I note it, 

That half your sons are strong 
Against this ill, and vote it 

A folly and a wrong; 



400 "YE THIRTY NOBLE NATIONS.' 

Yet, lurks there not a loathing, 
Ay, with your best inclined, 

Against that sable clothing 

Of Man's own heart and mind? 

I charge you by your power, 

Your freedom and your fame, 
To speed the blessed hour 

That wipes away this Shame: 
By all life's hopes and wishes 

And fears beyond the grave, 
Renounce these blood-bought riches, 

And frankly free the slave ! 

So let whatever threaten. 

While God is on our side, 
Columbia and Britain 

The world shall well divide, — 
Divide ? — No ! in one tether 

Of Anglo-Saxon might 
We'll hold the world together 

In peace and love and right! 



HuzzAH for guessing — brother mine ! 

I guess'd we loved each other; 
Huzzah ! I scarce can drop a line 

Without the tag of — brother; 
Huzzah ! for all the kind Replies 

Wherewith you bless and love me, — 
They thrill my heart and fill my eyes 

With thanks to God above me ! 



JO HNS REJOINDER. 401 

From East to West, from North to South, 

Through all your boundless regions, 
The staves that tumble from my mouth 

Have stirr'd your thousand legions; 
Have made the hearts of women ache, 

The minds of men to flutter, 
Because you felt before I spake 

The words that I would utter! 

You felt that Britain loved you still, 

Your foolish fond old mother, — 
And gave her, — not against your will, — 

The love you cannot smother ! 
You felt that you, though new, are Old 

As England's ancient glories, — 
You throbb'd to feel your triumphs told 

In all her strains and stories! 

yes ! dear brethren o'er the sea, 
Your verses, loves, and letters 

Have been a mix'd account with me 
Where both of us are debtors; 

1 owe you gratitude and praise 
For gratitude and praises. 

And when in thanks your heart you raise 
His thanks my heart upraises! 

Not that, good Jonathan, we try 

The game of mutual scratching, — 
You, Yankee true, and John Bull I 

Breed fowls of purer hatching; 
We tell the truth; not less nor more; 

So be it kindly spoken; 
For thus, no heart was e'er made sore, 

No head was ever broken. 
34* 



402 JOHN^S REJOINDER. 

When Pegasus I sit astride 

I fill my saddle squarely, — 
No fence so high, no ditch so wide, 

But I will take it fairly; 
I hate the nambypamby plan 

Of lounging upon pillions, — 
What I would say to one plain man 

I'll sing to fifty millions ! 

No truckling tricks will do for us, 

The this-and-that-way swerving; 
If John is pleased to praise you thus, 

It's that you're well deserving: 
But should he fawn your faults forsooth? 

Such meanness — I abhor it, — 
No, — since in love I speak the truth. 

Come, kiss your brother for it! 

Now, lately, with a faithful hand 

I touch'd, in love and lightness, 
The one black spot upon your land. 

The shadow to your brightness; 
I know how hard it is to cure 

That sore, — and how you rue it, — 
But, Jonathan, of this I'm sure. 

You'll soon and somehow — do it! 

More haste less speed; so speed apace, 

As prudent duty bids you; 
'Twill be indeed a year of grace 

That of this scandal rids you: 
The land of liberty and light. 

The Beacon on the Waters, 
Shall soon be quit of blame and blight 

For Afric's sons and daughters ! 



REJOINDER. 40:? 

You best know how, and why, and when; 

For us, we cannot teach you; 
But simply, — by the rights of Men 

And Women, — we beseech you I 
Take copy, brother, only here, — 

By Britain's good intentions; 
For all beside a conscience clear 

"We've got but bad inventions ! 

Our faults were haste, and wanton waste, 

Disinterested ruin ! 
Don Quixote stood to tilt for good, 

And lo ! his own undoing : 
But Jonathan, a shrewder man, 

A very early riser, — 
I credit you to find a plan 

To manage matters wiser! 

The wise, my Jonathan, he knows 

That all things here need mending; 
And best of friends are always those 

Who never fear offending; 
blind, and halt, and full of fault 

Are men of every nation, 
Then how should we, true friend, be free 

From that which dims Creation? 

Never again shall we two part 

In hatred or rejection, — 
Nor ever meet, but either heart 

Shall beat with true affection; 
Our "brother banners" we will rear 

For Fatherland and Sonland, 
Because, Columbia near and dear, 

We twain arc truly one-land! 



404 A STAVE FOR THE SOUTH. 

Ay, Jonathan, — take J<^hn for this, 

Your brother staunch and steady, 
The very mind and man, I wis. 

To like old "Rough and Ready!'' 
Then — cheers for Taylor, — great and wise 

Because un- glory -hitlen, — 
And — yes, I see it in your eyes, 

Nine more for Vic. and Britain! 



% $\ui fnr ttjB §n[\. 

I KNEW it, I guess'd it! you do what you can; 

It's hardly your fault if you can't : 
You wish better things; but a man is but Man, 

And often must wait and must want : 
For System, and matters and things as they are 

Have order'd and settled it so. 
That we who are judging your case from afar 

Know little — how little we know! 

Ay, glad would ye be, (let me credit you this,) 

If on your American shore 
Slavery never had been as it is, 

And never should be any more ! 
But how to get rid of so ancient an ill, 

And safely and sagely to heal 
A canker so deep, is the mystery still, 

And who shall its riddle reveal? 

Moreover, — and. Conscience, I give tlee this nudge, 

A sinner, but yesterday shriven. 
How dare he set up in the seat of the judge 

The culprit so lately forgiven? 



ASTAVEFORTHESOUTH. 405 

But yesterday, half Britain's colonies rung 

With slavery's echoing chain, — 
And ill it becomes us with Pharisee tongue 

To mock at a planter again! 

Yet more : for that planter's own father — and cur's, 

This sin as a legacy left, 
A fly in the ointment, a snake in the flowers, 

An Achan's inherited theft ! 
Britain, thy child, thy Columbian child 

Received at thy step-mother hand 
The gain — or the curse, that we hold him defiled 

If he leaves, as he found, in the land ! 

And well do I gather, friends in the South, 

That zealots dishonestly rave 
With bitter intent and a slanderous mouth 

Of the woes that you deal to the slave; 
Not cruel, not cai-eless of body or mind, 

Not heartless, nor heedless are ye, — 
But good and true masters, indulgent and kind, 

Ay, kinder than we to the free ! 

For sadly I note that on Liberty's coast 

The Briton may starve at his toil. 
Though loud be profession, and principle's boast 

That here are no serfs of the soil ! 
Ah, tell me how freedom is freedom, if Life 

Depends upon servitude stern? 
And perishing children and famishing wife 

Live only so long as you earn? 

No ! words are not things : unfairly we speak 

As if freedom were freedom indeed; 
While pallid and hollow is poverty's check, 

And deeply her bosom doth bleed : 



406 ASTAVEFORTHESOUTH. 

Let Britain and Erin and all the world o'er, 

Though boasting of liberty still, 
Be humble and dumb, when the weak and the poor 

Drain Slavery's bitterest ill! 

And more : for of old a mysterious curse 

Dark Canaan mark'd for its prey; 
And Prophecy knew that their lot should be worse, 

^' The servants of servants " are they ! 
And if the glad Gospel has scatter 'd that harm 

With a Catholic message of peace, 
It is not at once that it shatters the charm 

And calls on the sorrow to cease ! 

So then, loving brother ! consider my speech ; 

I judge not, I dare not condemn ; 
But let the great nations of History teach 

How slavery's curse ruin'd them ! 
Let Babylon, Persia, and Athens, and Tyre, 

And Egypt, and Carthage, and Borne, 
Declare the dark doom that they saw drawing nigher, 

As slavery swarm' d in the home ! 

With shame I confess that so late and so long 

We, Britons and Christians and all. 
Against our Father and brethren did wrong 

By holding those brethren in thrall : 
Yet now have we turn'd from the sin and the shame 

And tenderly pray and expect 
The child whom we love to do sagely the same 

Before he be ruin'd and wreck'd! 

Move wisely and warily; haste is but waste 

Of mercy, and safety, and wealth : 
Bemember that prudence was never misplaced, 

And good may be compass'd by stealth ; 



A STAVE FOR THE SOUTH. 407 

For Prudence is Providence all the world o'er, 

And wiser than we were, be ye; 
Teach, train, and instruct, ere you open the door 

To let the born bondman go free. 

In wisdom and mercy, redeem when you can; 

Let good willing service be paid; 
Remember the rights and the wrongs of a Man, 

And that "of one blood we are made;" 
Hold sacred Affections, in black as in white; 

No babe from the mother divide; 
And welcome, as friendly. Religion's true Light; 

And lay the red lashes aside ! 

Then, in the full season, with caution and care 

Join England in freeing the slave; 
And all the degenerate world shall not dare 

Take from him the gift that we gave ! 
If glorious Columbia with Britain unite 

In killing this hydra of earth, 
Oh ! Man shall have gain'd more of Good and of Right, 

Than all California's worth ! 



Yet once again, my Jonathan ! 

Your loving brother greets you, 
To do you all the good he can. 

Yes, every time he meets you; 
To speak with true and tender tongue, 

Not like a scolding Stentor, 
But (though a year or so too young) 

A fi-ank and faithful Mentor. 



408 "yet ONCE AGAIN." 

See! from my tassell'd wrist upsprings 

No falcon with its jesses, 
But a fair dove, whose silver wings 

Were made for soft caresses j 
Right glad the olive-branch to hear 

Across the sounding ocean, 
And find a welcome everywhere 

In every heart's emotion! 

And here to-day my carrier dove 

Is burden'd with a packet, 
Which, well inscribed with peace and love, 

Has justice too to back it; 
For many sterner souls there be 

Who nurse their wrongs intently, 
And well it were, if all, like me, 

Could judge and chide you gently. 

They say, — ay, many sorts of men. 

In bitterness they say it, — 
You borrow' d of the world, and then 

Resolve you won't repay it; 
That sundry of the thirty States 

Which heap your giant nation, 
Disgrace their honourable mates 

By rank "Repudiation." 

They say, — and make believe you say, — 

"What fools they were to lend it; 
We calculate that everyway 

They gave it us to spend it: 
And since it's sunk in road and rail. 

Canal, and dock, and clearing, — 
Our creditors are out of hail. 

And we'll be hard of hearing!'' 



"yet ONCE AGAIN." 409 

I don't believe it, Jonathan; 

You're wiser, truer, better: 
I know you'll pay us when you can, 

And blush to be a debtor: 
Not Illinois, nor Michigan, 

Florida, nor Arkansas, 
Nor Mississippi, to a man, 

Would give such shabby answers: 

I don't believe it; never did; 

I'd buy your stocks to-morrow; 
I only wish my purse could bid 

For all that you can borrow; 
I'd lend in faith and patience too, 

But cannot quite afford it, — 
Because in lending cash to you 

I know we do but hoard it. 

For, men must wait at any rate 

(It stands to rhyme and reason,) 
Till Labour in a rising State 

Produces in its season; 
Till banks, canals, and roads, and rails 

Are well in working order. 
And better hap and prosperous gales 

Are every one's rewarder. 

Now then! — Behold that better hap! 

A mighty store of treasure 
Is pour'd into Columbia's lap 

In Californian measure ; 
Commerce, and labour, land, and gold, 

And spirited migration 
Now bless your shores an hundred fold 

And — shame Repudiation ! 
35 



410 



"YET ONCE AGAIN/' 

Up, worthies all! up, kindly stock! 

Up, all my honest hearties ! 
And bring to shame's own whipping-block 

The few defaulting parties: 
Why should a tythe of all your States 

Throw scorn upon the others, 
And lay dishonoured debts as rates 

Upon their better brothers? 

No! ten long years is long enough 

Without a longer dating : 
And times are smooth that once were rough, 

And all the world's awaiting: 
And many sneers at Jonathan 

Will no more get a hearing. 
And spite have lived its little span 

In bygone pamphleteering: 

And many a widow's heart for joy 

Will brighten into gladness, — 
And many an orphan girl and boy 

Forget their years of sadness, — 
And many an honest poor old man 

Shall have outlived his ruin, 
If you, my brother Jonathan, 

Be only up and doing ! 

Pull one, pull all ! and break away 

From this reproachful halter. 
Let not one witling have to say. 

One Yankee's a defaulter : 
Kick out the rogues, if rogues there be; 

Why should they blot your brightness? 
And let all Europe shout to see 

Your honour and uprightness! 



"yet once again." 

children of a noble race, 
G-o on and prosper greatly ! 

1 love your Anglo-Saxon face, 
A British face so lately; 

Let Spain alone be found in fraud, 
And scorn be found upon her; 

But stand with us, and blaze abroad 
In Anglo-Saxon honour ! 



411 



EnrlvS nljrnti! 

A WORD TO A GREAT NATION. 

Steady, steady, gallant vessel! 

Hard aport, — obey the helm; 
Lest the breakers round thee wrestle, 

Lest the billows overwhelm : 
Though so pleasant just at present 

Be the voyage thou hast sped. 
There is peril, stark and sterile. 

Look you ! in the Bocks ahead ! 

See, that license of opinion 

Stifle not zeal's holy flame. 
Till Beligion's pure dominion 

Dwindle feebly to a name; 
Greed of gain, and sordid senses 

Tempt the waywardness of youth, 
And it needs the blest defences 

Of the citadel of truth. 



412 ROCKSAHEADI 

See, that no pernicious panic 

Scare the good from duty's post, 
Lest, by power grown tyrannic, 

Liberty be but a boast; 
Let the greatest, best, and wisest 

Calmly guide thine eagle course, 
Or no more to heaven thou risest. 

Headlong flung with downward force! 

Let the Press, with truth enlighten'd. 

Nobly lead the People's mind. 
That, while public wrongs are righten'd, 

Private names go unmalign'd; 
Let not evil spirits pander 

To the passions of the mob. 
Nor the pen be dipp'd in slander, 

God and man of love to rob. 

If, all clamour overriding. 

Law supremely rules the land, — 
If domestic love abiding 

Guides at home with patriarch hand, — 
If refinement chastens pleasure, — 

If fair dealing hallows gain, — 
If wise intervals of leisure 

Soothe the heart, and clear the brain, — 

If, both justly and discreetly 

From reproach thy fame to save, 
Not too rudely, not too fleetly. 

Soon thou settest free the slave, — 
If United, now and ever, — 

Thou shalt grow so great to be. 
That the wondering World may never 

Through all time thine Equal see 1 



ROCKS auead! 413 

Yes! — as now, let Patriots steer thee, 

Undismayed by men or things, 
Let Keligion's cherub cheer thee, 

As aloft she sits and sings, — 
So an Eden, not an Edora, 

Shall thy happy name be read. 
And the glorious ship of Freedom 

Weather all the rocks ahead! 



51 ItanB- 

(by request,) 
On behalf of the Floating "■ Church of the Redeemer:' Philadelphia, 1851. 

Ark of refuge, House of pray'r. 

Floating Island of the blest, 
Church of the Redeemer, where 

Jesus gives the weary rest, — 
Where the soul may get true gain, 

Richer than the spoil of kings. 
And, set free from Satan's chain. 

Find its life in Heavenly things. 

Modest little floating Church, 

Wisely points thy spire on high, 
Winning every heart to search 

For the treasures of the sky; 
For all purity and peace, 

Grace below, and bliss above; 
For the storms of Sin to cease. 

Changing to the calm of Love ! 
35* 



414 A STAVE. 

In the midst of clustering ships, 

Busy wharves and Mammon's leaven, 
Here Religion's heart and lips 

Consecrate one spot to Heaven: 
Yet, alas ! for zeal grown cold, — 

Feebly burns her altar-fire, 
And the mist of lacking gold 

Overclouds this humble spire ! 

Wealthy city, great and fair 

Prosperous child of plain old Penn, 
Named by his paternal care 

Full of Brother' s-love of Men, — 
Use thy greatness and thy wealth 

For thy Brethren's weal aright, 
That their hearts rejoice in health. 

And their minds be glad with light I 

Simple Children of the Sea, 

Bred on board of ship or boat. 
These desire to bend the knee, 

In a Sailors' Church — afloat; 
Give their natural wish success, 

Seal to them this House of pray'r, 
And with Christian bounty bless 

The Floating Church of Delaware ! 



NIAGARA. 4X5 

JSingnrn. 

I long'd for Andes all around, and Alps, 

Hoar kings and priests of Nature, robed in snow, 
Throned as for judgment in a solemn row 
With icy mitres on their granite scalps, 

Dumb giants, frowning at the strife below, 
I long'd for the Sublime ! 

Thou art too fair, 
Too fair, Niagara, to le sublime : 

In calm slow strength thy mighty floods o'erflow. 
And stand a cliff of cataracts in the air, — 
Yet, all too beauteous water-bride of Time, 

Yeil'd in soft mists, and cinctured by the bow, 
Thy pastoral charms may fascinate the sight. 

But have not force to set my soul aglow 
Kaptured by fear, and wonder, and delight. 



(Dtir ^^. 

A SONXET FOR THE TIMES. 

0, BUT how great a thing it is, how glad. 

To live in this our day ! when plain strong sense. 
Free knowledge, and Religion's influence, 

Build up a wall against the false and bad. 
And give the good both temple and defence : 
To live — when ancient enmities intense 

Turn to new brotherhood till now unknown ; 

When science and invention bless the world. 
Banishing half our pains and troubles hence; 

When time seems lengthened, distance nearer grown; 
When tyranny from every throne is hurled; 

When Right is Might, and Reason holds her own : 
O, happy day ! for prophets, priests and kings 
Have longed in vain to see such glorious things ! 



416 THE MISSIONARY JUBILEE HYMN 

For June 16, 1851. 

BY REQUEST. 

{Tune, as Psalm 149, — praise ye the Lord, S^c.) 

COME, let us sing, 

Give thanks, and rejoice, 
To God, the great King, 

With heart and with voice ! 
All honours and praises 

To JESUS belong. 
To Him the Church raises 

Her Jubilee Song. 

• 
Again, in swift race 

The years have sped round, 
And still, in His grace 

Our blessings are found; 
By seven times seven 

He gives evermore 
For earth and for heaven 

A bountiful store ! 

well may the world 

This year spread abroad 
The legend unfurl' d 

Of "Thanks to the Lord/' 
well may each nation 

With brotherly voice 
For Gospel Salvation 

Together rejoice ! 



THE MISSIONARY JUBILEE HYMN. 4] 

From England the Old 

To England the New, 
From Labrador's cold 

To tropic Peru, 
From Afric's Liberia 

Till China be reach'd, 
From Scinde to Siberia 

The Gospel is preach'd! 

And thrice, in the sound 

Of every tongue 
All the world round 

The trumpet hath rung; 
Our Jubilee's warning 

Proclaims from above 
The blaze of the morning 

Of Freedom and Love ! 

Ye freemen of light, 

Ye peace-lovers all, 
As brethren unite 

On JESUS to call; 
One fold and one Pastor, — 

now let us raise 
To Thee, Blessed Master, 

Our Jubilee praise ! 



418 GRATITUDE. 



I NUMBER you by thousands, unseen friends, 

And dearly precious is your love to me : 

Yea, what a goodly company ye be ! 
Far as the noble brotherhood extends 

Of English hearts and tongues o'er land and sea 
How rich am I in love ! — the sweet amends 

For all whatever little else of pain 
Some few unkindly cause; — most rich in love, 

From mine own home to earth's remotest ends: 
Let me then count my store, my glorious gain, 

This wealth, that my poor merit far transcends, 
Your loving kindness, — echoing from above 
The Highest Blessing on my works and ways, 
" Eu doule agathe," my Father's praise : 

Yea, let me thank you; let my heart outpour 

In humbleness its earnest gratitude 

To all whose yearnings follow me with good. 
Loving my mind and all its simple store : 

generous friends ! — a cordial multitude 
Hived in the West, upon that busy shore 

Where fair Columbia, Britain's child, is throned 

Imperial, yet with empire all unown'd, — 
generous friends ! — another cordial band 

From far Australia to the Arctic Seas, 
And crowds around me in mine own dear land, 

What thanks to pay for mercies great as these?- 
Felt from the heart, and by the tongue confest. 
Be the deep love of one so nobly blest! 



GRATITUDE. 410 

Ay: blest indeed above the mass of men 

And rich in joys that reach the true sublime! 

For that the frequent droppings of my pen 
Have comforted the Good in every clime 
And help'd the Right, — (0 solace beyond time !) 

Therefore my soul is glad: judge me, my friends, 
Is there not happier treasure in such joys 
Than all the world can win from all its toys? 

And, as the poet's dynasty extends 

To children's children, reigning in the mind, 
Is he not crown'd a king among his kind? 
Ah me ! not^so : this thought of pride destroys : 

Give God the praise : His blessing sends this store 

Of unseen friends by thousands evermore ! 



€^m /ar. 

Thus far : a few of my less faulty flowers 

Dropt on the highway for the passers-by; 
In grace and charity, good world of our's, 

Leave not the foundlings freezingly to die; 
They have bloom'd thus within my fancy's bowers 

Willing as weeds, perchance as little worth; 

Yet have I hoped them not all things of earth; 
For fervently beneath my flashing pen 

As quicken'd sometimes by angelic powers 
Thoughts have shot out to hit the hearts of men,— 

"Whilst on mine own the spirit of light and love 
So winningly hath shed his heavenly showers, 
That my glad songs have fill'd no toilsome hours, 

But happy moments lent me from above. 

©Eii AOSA. 



S'xEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN, 
PRINTED BY C. SHERMAN. 



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